


The Toad King

by IvvyMoon (blue_jack)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, bottom!Draco, top!Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/IvvyMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's life is turned upside down by the appearance of a cursed toad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Toad King

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the bottom_draco comm on LJ back in 2009.

Draco zoomed after the Snitch, leaning low over the handle of his Nimbus, his eyes narrowed against the rush of wind. Even going as fast as he could, he was barely able to keep the Snitch in sight. 

He cursed quietly as it veered to the right, and almost lost it in the glare of the sun. Even though it had been a while since he’d gone up, he hadn’t expected to be _this_ rusty. It seemed like the Snitch had never been quite so fast before, forcing him to give reckless chase as it fought to stay free. 

He frowned as it started to jerk haphazardly. Although known for its unpredictability, he had never seen it stagger and list that way before. Was it a new feint to lose him or—

Shit!

He dove down as the Snitch changed course, plummeting towards the earth below. It actually seemed to have slowed down to a small degree, and he reached forward, straining over the end of the Nimbus, willing it to go just a little bit faster. He wasn’t going to let it get away!

His eyes flicked up, paying careful attention to the quickly approaching ground even as he lengthened his body, dangerously shifting his center of gravity. _Just…a…little…_ he clenched his jaw, his fingers trembling as he leaned forward the tiniest fraction more, the green of the grass growing brighter and brighter _…bit…more…_

“Fuck!” He rolled as he forced the Nimbus to level out, his boot just catching the crumbling top of one of the bricks on an old well. Although the impact hadn’t been enough to break bone – he thought – he could feel his foot throbbing, the pain a red, dull line from his big toe to his instep.

“Fuck!” he repeated, gritting his teeth against the ache, turning around to try to get a view of the Snitch. Was it still down the well, or had it flown out while his back was turned? And why the _bloody hell_ did they even have a dilapidated well on their estate anyway? It should’ve been cleared off the grounds ages ago unless some ancestor of his had found the idea of an unused, unwanted well too unbearably romantic to part with. 

He wouldn’t put it past the stupid, sodding old geezers. Going down the family hall of portraits nowadays was enough to make him want to strangle someone – _anyone_ – and send him to his room with a headache for the rest of the damn day. To think he’d actually enjoyed seeing the “proud visages of his ancestral line” when he was growing up! But ever since the Dark Lord’s defeat and the subsequent revelation that the Malfoy family had participated in said defeat – if only to the extent they had – the crazy wankers had started moaning and wailing anytime any of the three of them had gone near. Blood traitors! Conspirators! Turncoats!

How he’d laughed when he’d heard about Potter and the old Black house… 

Sometimes, he just wanted to kick Cosmic Irony in the bollocks.

Minutes later, he still hadn’t caught a glimpse of gold, and his foot was aching even more, the rush from chasing the Snitch having faded as he sat aloft. Surely it hadn’t stayed in the damn well?

He directed his Nimbus to hover above the grey bricks, peering in irritation at the small opening and the almost tangible darkness below. It was wide enough that he could probably fly in, but not wide enough that he would feel comfortable doing it or confident he could fly back out backwards easily. He didn’t like tight, enclosed spaces, and the thought of knocking around the walls as he tried to back up – sounds muffled, surrounded by the encroaching dark – made him shudder.

He slipped his wand out of its sleeve.

“ _Lumos_!” Bugger it, he might as well have saved himself the effort for all the effect the spell had. The light actually made it more difficult to look down the well than less.

He glanced around once more, hoping the Snitch pop out suddenly to taunt him, when he noticed the small gap where his foot had dislodged one of the bricks. He sneered and cast _Stupefy_ , watching in satisfaction as more of the bricks tumbled down. 

Ha!

His smugness disappeared as he once again pondered his current predicament. There was no way in hell he was just going to leave it. That Snitch had been personally autographed by England ’s Seeker the last time they had won the World Cup – back when the Malfoy name had demanded respect and eager attempts at brownnosing – and it was one of his prized possessions. 

Maybe it had gotten lost inside the well? 

He leaned over slightly, wondering if he would be able to distinguish the telltale buzzing sound, but all he heard were the sounds of the wind and the occasional bird. 

Bloody brilliant. Was the damn thing broken? He remembered how erratically it had been moving, and he sighed. Snitches were immune to _accio_ spells to ensure teams didn’t cheat, but surely that restriction would disappear if it were broken. Surely.

“ _Accio_ Snitch!”

He held out his hand, but he wasn’t surprised when nothing happened.

“That spell doesn’t work on Snitches.”

Draco whirled around in surprise, his Nimbus overcompensating because of the sudden movement so he actually ended up swinging back and forth as he fought to rectify the situation, cursing all the while.

He raised his wand, eyes hard and searching. He hadn’t recognized the hoarse voice, and no one should be on Malfoy property.

And…apparently no one was. 

At least no one visible.

His eyes narrowed, looking for the betraying shimmer of a Disillusionment Charm, wondering if he should conjure up a gust of wind in case someone was in an Invisibility Cloak, like the one that git, Potter— 

“Down here.” 

He looked down, but he still couldn’t see anyone, just a fat old green toad—

The toad waved.

Draco shot up a few feet in the air as his Nimbus reacted to his surprise. He kept his wand firmly pointed at the thing sitting on the well.

“What the bloody hell—”

“Hey! Don’t leave!”

Draco said the first thing that came to his mind. “Toads don’t talk!”

The amphibian in question rolled his eyes – deep, emerald green eyes – which was extremely odd to see. “Obviously they do.”

“No, they don’t!”

“I’m talking, aren’t I?”

“Yes, well, but, you must be a freak of nature then.”

“Hey!” The toad furrowed his…eye ridges?

“Or an Animagus.” Draco drifted closer, not lowering his wand, but curious about the sudden change in events. “Although I’ve never heard of an Animagus retaining his ability to speak once he’s changed form.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a prat!” the toad huffed, still hung up on Draco’s insult, although slightly slow on the whole timing issue to make the rebuttal very effective.

“A curse perhaps? _Finite Incantatem_!” He didn’t actually expect it to work, but he gave it a go anyway. It wasn’t that he cared one way or the other about returning the creature to human form – assuming it was human and not a toad cursed with human intelligence – barely – but curiosity must be satisfied.

It was the first time he’d encountered an interesting puzzle in some months, and he had to admit, he was terribly bored.

Nothing happened, although the toad did poke out his long, sticky tongue at Draco.

Draco tried a dizzying succession of spells, trying to figure out what curse the toad was under, but none of them produced any better results than the first. The toad got sulkier and sulkier as time went on, however, turning his back, literally, on the whole proceedings.

He was getting a somewhat put off himself actually. It was hard to show off his skill when the damn thing wouldn’t cooperate…

“Are you finished?” it croaked sourly when Draco finally paused, even more ill-tempered than he’d been ten minutes before. During his last year while he’d been trying to find a way to save his family, he’d come across a number of spells for detecting and removing curses, and he couldn’t believe not a single one of them had worked!

Draco poked it slightly with his wand in frustration, just to make sure the stupid thing was actually there and not some sort of apparition. How could none of the spells have worked?

He might have jabbed a little harder than he meant to.

“Bugger!” the toad shouted, jumping a foot into the sky.

Now, Draco would never have thought a toad could be intimidating, but when the amphibian landed, glaring up at him with almost pulsing green eyes as it leaned forward as if in preparation to spring at him, he was actually slightly glad he was on his Nimbus.

“Why you—”

Draco coughed. “Well, whatever you are, you are trespassing on Malfoy lands and should depart post haste.”

“What? I live here!”

“Only at our convenience, and I must say that the thought of a cursed, fat toad—”

“Hey!”

“—wandering our estate is not very appealing. Shoo!” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Go pester another family.”

“You don’t really expect me to go, do you?” the toad said after a long pause, staring up at Draco incredulously. Well, he assumed it was incredulously. Damn hard to read the stupid thing’s facial expression.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Draco crossed his arms, staring down his nose imperiously.

“Well, too bad! I’m staying right here!” The toad tried to cross its arms as well, giving it up as a bad job after a minute of its chubby arms sliding past each other. Oddest toad ever.

His eyebrows rose. “I told you to leave.”

“And I said I wasn’t going to do it!” the toad responded mutinously. 

It blinked at the wand pointing between its eyes. “Yes, you will,” Draco said dangerously.

“Err…fine, fine!” The toad backed up, frowning. “You’re just peeved ‘cause you couldn’t figure out the spell on me,” it muttered sulkily.

“Ha! So you admit you’re under some kind of curse!”

“No, I’m just the only talking toad in all of England.” It once again did that disturbing eye roll.

“You just said all toads talked!”

“Yeah, well, I was just having you on, wasn’t I?” The toad drew back as Draco wand came closer. “I said I was going! Stop pointing that thing at me!”

“I should hex you where you squat, you slimy, disgusting—”

“I’ll have you know that I’m quite the ladies man!” the toad interrupted, affronted. “Why last mating season alone—”

“Cease your story at once before I obliterate you out of self-defense,” Draco said, his nose scrunching up in horror.

“I didn’t do anything with them!” the toad said, his own face contorting in apparent disgust. “I was just saying a lot of the females were trying to get my attention!”

“Spare me tales of your sordid conquests,” Draco sneered. 

“Wanker.”

“Freak.”

“Stupid pillock.”

“Sodding—” Draco broke off. “I cannot believe I am exchanging insults with a toad. This is what my life has become.” Here he was, the once undisputed ruler of Slytherin House, arguing with a cursed toad. How the mighty had fallen. 

It was all that git’s Potter’s fault. During the last battle with the Dark Lord, there had been a flash of blinding light, and the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World had disappeared into thin air, leaving the desiccating ruin of his enemy’s body on the forest floor, surrounded by confused witnesses. As a result, there had been no one to corroborate his mother’s or his own testimony about how they’d attempted to _help_ the Golden Boy. The Weasel and the Mudblood had testified that Draco had tried to stop Crabbe and Goyle – and damn, it still hurt to think of the two of them, one dead, the other in Azkaban – and the brutish half-giant had admitted that _something_ must have happened since Potter obviously hadn’t been dead when his mother checked up on it, but their situation was tenuous at best.

Neither his father nor his mother had been sentenced to Azkaban, but suspicion about them was still heavy, and they existed in some nebulous half-life, waiting for someone – more specifically Potter – to come back and either save them or damn them. And that meant that he’d spent the past year in virtual house arrest, unable to go out on his own because public opinion was too dangerous to contend with at the moment.

Stupid _bloody_ Potter.

His attention snapped back to the toad when it shifted, causing a little more crumbly brick to fall down. “I told you to leave,” he said woodenly.

It looked back at him curiously for a moment before shrugging. “Fine, I’m going. But you’re never going to get your Snitch back if I do.”

“Hmph.” As if he cared.

Although…he might care…a little. 

Alright. He wanted his damn Snitch back immediately as a matter of fact, partly so he could just get the hell back home and have his foot tended.

“I don’t need your help. I can get it myself.”

“Okay.” The toad hopped around a bit, studiously looking at the ground as if he were finding the appropriate place to jump down.

“I’ve barely even attempted to get it yet.”

“Right you are, mate.” It leaned forward, finding a likely spot. The horrid thing was ignoring him!

“As if I would need the help of a fat, lumpy toad!”

The toad hummed in agreement, his whole body wriggling as it got ready to jump.

“Even if for some reason I can’t bring it up – ha! – my father would be—” 

“Good luck!” the stupid git said cheerily before it jumped, disappearing into the tall grass.

For a second, Draco could hear the sounds of movement, and then there was silence. He looked down the well – the damp, dark, narrow well. Then he looked at the spot where the toad had disappeared. 

Then at the well. 

Then at the spot. 

He did _not_ want to ask to his father for a new Snitch. 

Oh, his father would get him one, no doubt about that. Money was never an issue, no matter how many Ministry hounds sniffed around, trying to find reasons to fine them. 

But it wouldn’t be _this_ one. And the shopping would be…less than pleasant.

Although they could have one delivered to the Manor, any kind of Quidditch supplies were best chosen by hand, and none of them enjoyed leaving the estate much these days, even his parents, for whom public appearances were something of a must. Malfoys had nothing to be embarrassed about.

He knew he _could_ get another one. But he wanted _his_ Snitch. Besides, what good was buying a new Snitch if he couldn’t lord its vast superiority over his friends?

“Fine! You can stay here, you annoying freak of nature!”

Nothing.

His jaw clenched. “I’ll help you break your curse.”

The grass rustled in a disbelieving manner, as if to remind him how successfully his previous attempts had gone over.

“What _do_ you want then, you—” He forced himself to not finish the insult.

“Well…what are you willing to give me?”

Draco nearly twitched in annoyance. How the hell had the damn thing gotten over to the other side of the well without him noticing? He took a deep breath.

“What are you asking for?”

“Depends on what I can get.”

“Ask for something and find out.” Draco already felt on the weak side of the negotiating table since the infuriating toad knew he wanted his Snitch, so he’d be damned before he broke down first and revealed exactly how far he was willing to go.

“Well…what about money?”

“Why would a toad need money?”

“I didn’t say I needed it! I just asked if you would give it to me if I wanted it!”

“Something shiny for you?” Draco sneered.

The toad lifted one leg, threatening to leave.

“Fine, fine! I’ll give you a Galleon!”

“A Galleon? What kind of miser are you?”

“Five Galleons then!” he snarled.

“You’re just wasting—” 

“Ten Galleons, and not a Knut more.”

“Get your own damn—”

“There’s still time to inform the house elves that frog legs would make a excellent course tonight!”

From one second to the next, the toad disappeared.

“No, you don’t, you— _Accio_ toad!” It was only his Seeker instincts – accustomed to dodging Bludgers – that let him avoid the startled brown toad that zipped towards his head. His hair flopped into his face, his breath coming fast at the narrow avoidance. 

It hadn’t even been the right one, damn it! 

He smoothed his hair back into a semblance of its former perfection with a trembling hand. The very nerve of that cursed amphibian, daring to defy him!

It took him a minute to calm down enough not to snarl out the words. “I will give you whatever you want. Just bring me my Snitch, and whatever you want is yours.” 

He would agree to whatever the toad asked for, get his Snitch back, and then he’d kill it.

He took a deep breath. 

Alright, maybe not kill it. But definitely Obliviate it after mocking it for a time. It’d serve the thing right, too, for completely ruining his day.

“Whatever I ask for?” The croaky voice was laced with suspicion.

“Yes,” he bit out.

“You swear?”

“I already said ‘yes’ you insufferable arse, now bring me my Snitch!”

“You’re really temperamental and bossy, you know that, right?” the toad groused, its voice fading.

It was only his desire for his Snitch that kept him from hexing the patch the fat toad had been sitting on seconds before.

Deep breaths. _Get the Snitch, then Obliviate him. Get the Snitch,_ then _Obliviate him._ It eventually calmed him down.

A bit.

He waited several minutes, his foot hurting more and more with each passing second, before the toad jumped back up onto the well, no Snitch in sight.

“Where. Is. My—”

The toad’s throat _rippled_ , and then its tongue came out, the Snitch balanced at the tip.

“It was in your _mouth_?”

The toad gurgled something incomprehensible at him. Disgusting. Absolutely and utterly _revolting_. His Snitch – his unique, World Cup-winning Snitch – had been down the gullet of that loathsome toad.

He nearly shuddered. 

Even though he was wearing Quidditch gloves, even though it was the very thing he’d been waiting for, even though it was balanced precariously on the tip of—

Draco lunged forward, barely managing to grasp the slippery Snitch in his hand before it wobbled back into the damn well.

“Are you _insane_? It nearly fell—”

The toad belched. “Sorry! Bit of indigestion.”

He grimaced.

“What? I’ve got little hands!” It waved them to emphasize its point. “How else did you expect me to carry it?”

He ignored it, looking at the slimy mess on his glove instead. Yes, it was his Snitch. He could barely make out the beginning of the autograph under all the…goop…as it wound underneath one of the wings, which were hanging listlessly over the ends of his palm.

It really was broken.

One more ruined thing in his life.

His fingers tightened convulsively.

“Now, about my reward,” the toad began.

“Sod off,” Draco interrupted coldly. “Let this be a lesson to you for being daft enough to believe me.”

He flew away without looking back, the sound of outraged croaks in his wake.

\----

Two days later, Draco was still upset over the whole incident. 

The repulsive toad had actually had his Snitch in its mouth. In its mouth! Even though his father had assured him the Snitch was fine – it had just needed a surge of magic to replenish its diminished supply – he didn’t know if he could ever look at it in the same way, let alone actually play with it. And it was all because of that incredibly fat, ugly, sickening green toad.

At least he had seen the last of it. There was no way it would ever be able to make its way to the Manor—

He twitched violently, almost throwing a forkful of duck over his shoulder when he heard the first croak. His parents both looked at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Damn you, Cosmic Irony! Damn you to hell!

“Draco, darling, whatever is the matter?” his mother asked after dabbing at her mouth with her linen napkin.

“Nothing, mother. I was just…startled.”

“It was a rather loud sound, I suppose,” she said, glancing at Lucius.

“The house elves should be more careful about keeping the vermin away,” he replied, looking at him slightly askance.

Draco smiled weakly.

Eventually, the two of them started conversing again once they were satisfied no more unseemly outbursts were forthcoming, while Draco toyed with his dinner. What were the chances that it was the same toad? 

Impossible. 

And besides, _that_ toad had talked. The toad outside the window had only managed to croak once, and surely one of the house elves had captured and disposed of it by now. There was no need for him to be concerned. It was just…bizarre coincidence.

He hastily excused himself after the main course was taken away, pleading indigestion or a headache or something and fled to his room, carefully locking the door behind him and making sure all the windows were closed as well.

He took deep calming breaths, feeling much more secure, even the tiniest bit silly for his reaction. As if he was getting stalked by a toad of all things…

“Hey, Malfoy! Open up the window! Remember me! You stupid wanker…” This last part was muttered. “Don't you remember the promise you made to me down by the well? Open up the window!”

Merlin! He hadn’t gone through with killing Dumbledore, and he’d virtually saved the life of Potter, even after the spectacled git had hexed him. He didn’t deserve this shit!

After the third recitation, he finally lifted his head out of his hands, stomped over to the window from which the croaking was ensuing and flung open the drapes. He nearly blanched at the squashed up face against the glass.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded furiously.

The infuriating creature glared back. “What do you think, you bastard? You left me at the well!”

“That should’ve been enough of a hint for you!”

“What about my reward?”

“I didn’t kick you off our lands, did I?”

It spluttered. “That-that wasn’t the deal! You’re supposed to give me whatever I asked for! You promised!”

“More fool you then for believing me!”

“Bu-bu-but you promised!” Draco rolled his eyes at the disbelief in its voice. It sounded like a ruddy Gryffindor. 

“And your point is?” he sneered.

The toad’s eyes narrowed. “I want my reward!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“N—” Draco rubbed his forehead. He kept finding himself getting into ridiculous arguments with the thing. Really, what was the world coming to?

“Isn’t it bad luck to break a Wizard’s Oath?”

He barely lifted his eyes to peer at it. “Where did you hear that bit of rubbish? Been reading two-Knut novels lately, have you?”

He swore the thing would’ve blushed if it’d been able. It tried to fold its arms again, but the attempt was as fruitless as the first time it’d tried, and it finally crouched low on the outside sill, a grumpy expression on its face.

“Wizard Oaths,” he began in a pedantic tone, “are only between wizards. Not wizards and toads.” It once more stuck its tongue out at him. “Secondly, magic is involved, and occasionally, a third party will be present to act as a binder or witness. As I believe none of those circumstances were met, I feel rather confident that I can tell you to bugger off without any worry of divine retribution or some such nonsense.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what I wanted before you left me stranded in the middle of the bloody field,” it sulked. “And after I risked my life to get your sodding precious Snitch out of the well. I’m not a frog you know! I’m pants at swimming! I almost drowned! And then I spent days getting here. Days! Do you know how dangerous it is for someone like me to be out in the open, hopping through the fields where any hungry bird or fox can get me? Not to mention the bloody owls at night! Sneaky buggers. Can’t hear ‘em coming.”

“Spare me your trials and tribulations. Like the plight of one barmy toad is anything in comparison to what I’ve been through.” 

“I’ve been cursed you know!”

“You probably deserved it! I’ve only known you for a few days, and I already feel like hexing you myself!”

“Prick.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the ignominy of arguing with a toad – again – stopped him.

“You know, you’re awfully blasé about the fact that you’re talking to a cursed toad.”

He looked at it dryly. “It’s because I don’t care. Toad or man, you’re an annoying prat, and the sooner you give up, the happier I’ll be.”

He shut the drapes on its scowling face and cast a Silencing Spell on all the windows. 

Closing his eyes, he sighed. Blessed relief.

\----

The first thing he did the next morning when he woke up was to peer through the drapes, but no squashed face pouted back at him. Thank goodness. 

Not that he actually thought the persistent thing had gone away, but at least it had left him alone for the moment. It was no doubt waiting to ambush him at a later date, but he would deal with it when the time came.

His faint cheer disappeared, however, when he was eating a fruit bowl and saw the stubborn face poking up from the corner of the window behind his father. He nearly choked on a grape.

His father stopped with a bit of toast almost to his mouth as Draco’s face turned red from his coughing. 

“Draco,” he began.

Draco held up his hand, signaling he was alright, and finally sipped a glass of juice. 

“I just…swallowed the wrong way,” he temporized when he could finally speak.

Although his father gave him an odd look, he didn’t comment about his behavior further, although he did put down his toast. His mother and father exchanged glances, her eyebrow rising until his father sighed.

In the background, he could swear the bloody toad was shaking with laughter.

“It’s been a while since I took the Crups out,” Lucius said casually. “Would you like to join me after breakfast?”

He wrenched his eyes from the jiggling amphibian to his father who was obviously offering to spend time with him out of concern for the state of his mental health. “Why, yes, father. A hunt sounds most pleasant.” Whatever the reason behind it, hunting sounded brilliant. Maybe they could start by pursuing something small and aggravating…

\----

“Leave me _alone_ ,” he grumbled, walking into his room to the sound of loud, indignant croaks. He cast Silencing Spells, not even bothering with checking any of the windows. The stupid thing had been nowhere in sight the whole day they’d been out with the Crups, but as soon as he’d gone to his room to get ready for the bed, there it was.

He stalked into the bathroom. No Snitch was worth this.

\----

He smirked the next day when he heard his father castigating one of the house elves for not capturing the toad that had kept him awake the previous night.

It was only a matter of time before his problem was solved for him.

\----

Draco woke sometime in the middle of the night. He blinked blearily, wondering why he was awake and saw ugly green eyes staring back at him from his nightstand.

“Ah!” he gasped, his hand searching for the wand under his pillow.

“What are you doing in my room?” he demanded, his hand still patting the bed futilely.

“Your house elves have been chasing me all night!” the toad complained. 

“So why are you still _alive_?” he hissed. Where the hell was his damn wand?

Although the toad didn’t croak, its throat expanded in an obvious show of resentment and pique.

“I order you to leave at once!” he said, sitting up and pointing towards his room door.

“Are you daft?” Both webbed hands flew up in the air in exasperation. “I just told you your bloody house elves are after me!”

“It’s your own fault for being such a pest! If you’d just leave—”

“I’m not leaving until you keep up your end of the deal!”

“I’ll do no such—”

“Look! I’m not going to ask for money, or power, or-or anything else that will cost you! I only want three things – three tiny, inconsequential things – and then I’ll be out of your hair. Don’t you _want_ to get me out of your life?”

“Of course I do! You are a trial and tribulation on my soul! I have never encountered a more exasperating and maddening thing in my entire life, and the thought of ejecting you from my house and lands fills me with such profound satisfaction and anticipation as I have never felt before or will again!”

“Er…right. Well then…”

“Fine. Fine!” Draco rearranged his pillows and settled back, crossing his arms over his chest and definitely _not_ pouting. “What?”

The toad took a deep breath. “Okay.” He took another one. “Um…alright. You see…” He drifted off. “I…”

“Bloody hell!” He smacked his hand down on the duvet. “ _What_ is taking so long?” 

It frowned back at him sullenly. “I didn’t expect you to listen to reason. Caught me off guard.”

“Why you—”

“First thing I want! I want to eat off your plate.” Those green eyes were looking everywhere but at him.

“What?” 

It coughed. “Yeah, the same plate you’re eating off of.” Draco could swear its fingers – or whatever they were – were twiddling.

“Are you _mad_? Why would I do something like that? Who knows what kind of…diseases you harbor?” He shuddered, his face a mask of disgust, his fingers in front of his mouth as if to shield the possibility of any contaminated food entering it.

“I-I don’t have any diseases!” the toad sputtered indignantly.

He gasped. “What if you infected me with your warts?”

“You can’t get warts from a toad!”

Draco sneered. “As if I could believe—”

“You can’t! I don’t even have warts! They’re just bumps!” It was extremely grating how the damn thing kept cutting him off. “Besides, our food doesn’t have to touch or anything! You just have to partition a bit off for me. I wouldn’t have to touch _your_ food at all.”

“And _why_ would I do something like that?” he asked it, looking at it with open repugnance.

“Well, besides the fact that you _promised_ … It’ll get rid of me?”

His jaw worked in irritation. It was such a good point…

“And why do you want something like that anyway?” 

“Can’t tell you,” the toad said promptly. It would’ve been slightly frustrating if a yawn hadn’t chosen that moment to attack him.

“Something to do with your curse, I take it? I just can’t imagine eating off people’s plates is your idea of a good time.” He draped himself elegantly back against the pillows. It was so dark outside, and he was tired…

“Can’t say.”

Draco rolled his eyes and shifted, getting comfortable. “I don’t have to do this in public, do I? You don’t need some sort of audience or anything?”

“Nope. We can do it in the closet for all I care.”

“And after this, you’ll leave me alone?”

“For a while!” it said cheerfully, seeing victory ahead in Draco’s relaxing form. It made him want to put up more of a fight just for the hell of it, but…he did want his beauty sleep.

“Fine. Tomorrow morning for breakfast. Until then, get out of my room.”

“Right! Oh, by the way, here’s your wand back.”

“Why you—” It took a second for him to sit back up, find his wand on the bed stand where the toad had put it, and cast a quick spell to rid it of any toad saliva. By the time he’d cast a faint _Lumos_ , the toad was gone.

He grumbled for a bit before finally settling back down, his wand firmly in his hands.

For a second as his lashes fluttered, he wondered how the toad had gotten through the house wards, but the thought faded in the blackness of sleep.

\----

Draco had only eaten one bite of breakfast before he’d stopped. It wasn’t odd for him to order his food in his room after waking up late, and the house elf had dropped off the tray, bowing in delight at being of service. 

Just as the toad had suggested, he had scraped bits of his food off to the side of the plate, because the bloody thing had been adamant it had to be his plate and not a different plate with the same food he was eating. He’d taken one bite to fulfill the requirement, and he hadn’t expected to want to eat anything more because it was sure to be too disturbing to see the toad eat.

But it hadn’t.

Surprisingly.

It ate with demure delicacy, using its long tongue to carefully pick up individual morsels and retract them into its mouth. He still didn’t want to actually share his plate with it, but it definitely hadn’t been as off-putting as he’d expected. It was actually oddly fascinating, watching the toad size up which pieces to choose, arranging its body to come at the food at the right angle, the long tongue dipping out and back in.

Before Draco knew it, he’d taken another bite of food as hunger and distraction made him forget to not eat. He almost coughed the food right back out, but that would’ve been too humiliating, so he’d choked it down. After he didn’t die or erupt with warts, he took a few more bites, the enticing smell of the food too strong to resist, still meticulously keeping to the far side of his plate.

It was a weirdly companionable breakfast. Not that he liked the damn toad or anything, but it was actually better company than some of his fellow Slytherins had been at Hogwarts, eating without any rude or snide comments. Not to say that breakfast had been silent.

“How can you eat this food anyway? Don’t your kind normally eat bugs or something?”

“Cursed, remember? Bugs are definitely _not_ my food of choice if I can avoid it.” 

And…

“You complain about my supposed warts, but with all the sweets you have on your plate, aren’t you worried about pimples?”

“ _Malfoys_ do not get _pimples_. The suggestion is completely absurd. I have smooth, perfect skin.”

“What about—”

“Shut it you.”

He idly chewed on a piece of toast as the toad finally settled back, full at last, an expression of contentment on his face.

“So that’s it then?”

It opened its eyes which had started to droop. “Er…for now, yeah.”

“You mentioned you wanted three things. What are the other two?”

Its legs started to move around as if it were getting ready to hop away. 

Not a good sign.

His eyes narrowed.

“Look, toad—”

“I do have a name, you know.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“You’re always insulting me! You could have the decency to call me by my name for a change.”

“Why would I call you be your name? I don’t know it!”

“You could’ve asked!” The stupid thing was getting bigger and bigger, its body inflating in its irritation.

He threw down his toast. “You never asked for mine!”

“I already know your name!”

“You’ve never used it!”

“I did, too! Once. That first night. When I was trying to get you to open the window. But you’ve never even asked for mine!”

“Why would I care what your name is?” He nearly knocked over his pumpkin juice as he gestured in frustration. “You’re a toad!”

“A cursed toad.” The amphibian deflated, almost huddling in on itself as the anger passed and self-pity crept in. “A cursed toad that no one cares about or remembers anymore.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Draco sighed. The last thing he wanted was a morose toad stalking him. “Give us your name then.”

“No. You don’t really care.”

“Bloody right.” He rolled his eyes as the toad croaked lowly. “ _However_ , if you tell me your name, I will endeavor to use it in the future. Occasionally.”

“Really?” It was amazing how such a little thing brightened the whole toad’s expression. It hopped a little closer. “I’m fairly sure my name’s Peter. It just _sounds_ familiar.”

He looked down at the smiling toad. “Just how much of your past do you remember…Peter?”

The smile fell away. “Not much really. Sometimes I get flashes of things, people’s faces and whatnot, but it’s like they’re far away. Mostly, all I remember is the area by the well where you found me. But…once the curse is broken, I’ll get all my memories back.”

It was obvious that it wasn’t quite certain whether that would be the case or not. 

“Yeah, so it was lucky I caught you looking for your Snitch,” it said optimistically, shaking off its uncertainty.

“Yes. Rather,” Draco replied. “Although I’m sure some other bloke would’ve come up on eventually.” He didn’t know why he added that last part. The likelihood of something like that happening was actually incredibly small since most people preferred to Apparate or fly rather than actually walk across their lands, but the toad’s morose mood made him feel like he had to say something.

“Maybe. Although it…probably wouldn’t have worked out.”

“Why not?”

“Well…you’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to.”

“You mean I’m the first person you’ve met?”

“No. I mean you’re the first person who’s ever understood what I’ve said.”

He blinked in surprise. 

“It’s hard to keep track of the number of days I was out there. I tried to make scratches in the ground, but the first time it rained, they disappeared. But I would guess it was several months ago, that I tried to leave the well and find help. After a couple days, I actually met up with someone and tried to call out, but he…” The toad shrugged. “I followed him a ways, but he never showed any signs of understanding what I said. I eventually turned around in the hopes that whoever had left me there would come back.”

“Whoever had left you?”

“Well, I wasn’t born there or anything. The other toads said I just showed up one day. They don’t really have great memories, so they didn’t remember how I got there, but they knew I was a newcomer.”

“So you’ve just been…waiting?” He looked down at the toad with a new sense of sympathy that even knowing the thing had been cursed hadn’t engendered. Just like him, Peter was waiting for his life to carry on.

“What else could I do?”

Indeed.

Bloody Potter.

He froze, half aghast at the idea forming in his head.

Impossible…

However…

“Stay still for a second,” he said, leaning closer to Peter. Peter twitched back but remained largely motionless.

No scar or discoloration on his head. He had bright green eyes, but for all Draco knew, all toads had the same. His voice definitely was different, but croaking for a year might do that to a person. And the names were vaguely similar, Peter and Potter.

But he’d already tried several curse removing spells, and none of them had worked. And Potter had disappeared during the Last Battle. The spell on Peter was extremely complex to avoid all his attempts to break it. From his own horrible memories of forced Transfiguration, he knew that a spell like that was relatively easily broken. Surely whoever had cursed the toad had spent a lot of time placing it on him which wouldn’t have happened in the heated rush of war.

Still, it was a little odd…

“How’s your eyesight?”

“Pardon?”

“Your eyesight? How is it?”

Peter puffed out his chest proudly. “I’ve got the best eyesight of all the toads in the area!”

Alright, really, that probably wasn’t the best measuring stick. How good could a toad’s vision be anyway?

“You don’t happen to remember bright green lights or yelling or snakes or the like, do you?”

“Er, no…” he replied, his eye ridges furrowing. “I try to avoid snakes whenever possible,” he said slowly, looking at Draco as if he were daft. “They eat toads after all.”

He shook his head. Silly idea, really. 

“Alright then, Peter. Back to the original topic. What is the second thing you want?”

The toad started that shifting movement again. “Promise you won’t get mad.”

“No. Now tell me.”

“Promise me first.”

“I do not make blanket promises with no knowledge of what to expect.”

“You promised to give me whatever I wanted!”

“Yes, and look how well that worked out for you,” Draco said dryly. Peter’s lips pursed. “You’re actually better off than if I’d heard you out, you know. I _was_ planning on Obliviating you.”

“What? Why you-you unconscionable prick!”

Draco arched an eyebrow at the epithet. “As I said, beware blanket promises.”

“You are such a sodding wanker!”

Just because he was willing to lend a sympathetic ear to the damn thing didn’t mean it had free license to say whatever it chose. He’d been willing to let one insult pass by, but two… It was time to remind it of its place.

He lifted his wand and cast a quick spell. The toad nearly shrieked as he was suddenly hanging upside down.

“You were saying?” It was amazing how satisfying it was to see it at his mercy. He should’ve done this sooner.

“P-p-put me down!”

“So I can listen to your crass insults? I think not.”

“Bloody hell! Alright! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Just how sorry are you?” He jiggled his wand up and down, watching in amusement as Peter bobbled around correspondingly.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sorry enough then. He let Peter drop back to the bed stand.

“Just remember, toad, who you are talking to. I might be willing to listen to your request, but it’s entirely out of your control whether or not I’ll fulfill it. Understand?”

It glared mutinously up at him, the impact somewhat lessened by the fact that one, it was a toad, and two, it was currently on its back and sprawled on the bed stand.

It would have been extremely satisfying to demand a response, but he let it go. He was actually beginning to like Peter of all things, so plucky and amusing – although, of course, still irritating – and it was rather enjoyable having someone in his power again like back in the days at Hogwarts. 

His mood almost dampened thinking about Crabbe and Goyle, but he was able to push the thought aside as Peter struggled upright, grumbling all the while.

“Now, you were saying?”

Peter harrumphed, but finally opened his mouth. “I want to sleep on your pillow.”

“You want to do _what_? Are you _mad_?”

“That’s what you said the last time, too,” it muttered.

He ignored the interruption. 

“I’m not letting you on my _bed_ , let alone on my _pillow_. Next to my _head_. Think of my gorgeous hair! You could accidently touch it. And my flawless complexion! What if you give me warts?”

“I already told you, toads can’t give you warts!”

Draco’s eyes got enormously large. “What if you went to the toilet on my _pillow_?” 

“I wouldn’t—”

“No! I refuse! Take your disgusting cursed body out of my room! Out of my house! I will never share my pillow with you! Ever!”

“Now, wait a minute—” The toad hopped high in the air, barely avoiding the hex Draco sent its way. “Malfoy! Wait one bloody— Bugger it!” It twisted and jumped, somehow managing to dodge all his curses as it hopped furiously out of the room. 

Draco knelt up on the bed, his chest heaving, the breakfast tray knocked to the ground. The gall! The utter cheek!

He’d have to let the house elves know the toad had been sighted again. There was no way he’d ever let the thing back into his room.

\----

“Why the bloody hell are you back in my room? Better still, _how_ are you back? The wards should’ve kept you out.”

“Oh, come on then. I gave you a few days to calm down. You can’t still be upset!”

On the one hand, it was actually a little bit of a relief to see Peter. He’d expected him to show up and pester his some more, so when two days had gone by without a single sighting, he’d actually started getting a little worried about the stupid toad.

And no, he’d only taken to going on long walks around the manor as a form of exercise, not for any other reason.

On the other hand, there was still no way in hell he was going to let the warty thing on his pillow. Breaking the curse or no, it was his pillow they were talking about.

“Why can’t you ask for something normal, like money, or I suppose in your case, flies or crickets or something?”

“I don’t want any of that! Especially the flies or crickets! I just want to sleep on your pillow!”

“Because of your curse.”

“Er…I can’t say.”

He eyed it suspiciously. The likelihood of it being anything not related to the curse was extremely small, but better to not take chances. “You know, you may _think_ you used to be a man, but you are now a toad. I realize how incredibly gorgeous I am, but I don’t fancy toads.”

It took a second for his statement to sink in.

“Ew! Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww! Don’t be daft, that’s not why I want to sleep on your pillow! I mean, ewwww! I just _ate_ ,” he complained.

At least there was one less thing to worry about. He didn’t want an obsessed toad after him.

“Yes, well, just looking at you is enough to put me off my supper. Anyway, you’re not sleeping in my bed. Ask for something else.”

“I don’t want anything else! You have to let me sleep on your pillow. While you’re sleeping on it, too! You promised!”

This time, Draco managed to wing him with a Stinging Hex if the yelp was anything to go by.

\----

Draco paused, his spoonful of potato leek soup halfway to his mouth. Was the flower arrangement on the table…moving?

Sure enough, it rustled again. It had to be that infuriating toad.

He looked around the table unobtrusively, finally lowering his spoon gently. It was just a small dinner party, only three other families over, but it would be mortifying to have a common garden pest loose in the house. They would never live it down, and the last thing they needed were more families on the outs with them.

Even as he finished that thought, he thought he caught a flash of brilliant green. He leaned a bit closer under the pretext of reaching for the butter dish, hoping no one noticed he hadn’t just waved it over. Thankfully, everyone was caught up in the dinner conversation, and he didn’t think anyone was paying attention to his movements.

When he looked back at the flowers, two green eyes were staring back out at him.

 _Go. Away,_ he mouthed.

A small shake of the head and narrowing of the eyes were his only replies. This time, they were obviously playing for keeps.

Alright. Maybe throwing hexes at the git every time he saw him recently hadn’t been the most…diplomatic…way of letting him know he needed to pick a different reward. 

Although it had been enormously gratifying at the time… 

There was just something inherently vexing about the toad, even when Draco had begun to enjoy their verbal sparring and encounters. Part of it was how the prat kept going on and on about how Draco had _promised_ …as if he thought that really should matter.

Who could understand people like that?

But it made denying his request and chasing him out of the house all the more enjoyable. He hadn’t thought Peter would ever actually manage to get the upper hand though. 

Even while he frantically thinking of a way out of the situation, he had to slightly admire the way he’d been outmaneuvered. Whoever Peter was, he hadn’t been in Slytherin, but…but he might have been teachable. 

The eye ridges furrowed, and Draco easily understood the implied question.

 _Not now_ , he mouthed, his eyes darting to the guests, hoping to convey that their discussion would have to wait until after everyone had departed.

But it looked like he had run out of time.

Everyone turned to look at him as his glass of wine knocked over, spilling its contents over the white linen. 

“How…clumsy of me,” he said tightly, righting the glass, careful not to let his fingers actually rest on the point where Peter’s tongue had tipped it over. “Please excuse the interruption.” He could tell from the tight lines around his father’s eyes that he was _not_ pleased.

Of course, neither was he.

He didn’t look back at the floral arrangement until everyone’s attention had gone back to what they were doing several minutes later. Grey eyes met green, wills clashing. Then green hardened and darted to his neighbor’s place setting, the threat clear.

Why that little...

 _Alright._ He watched as smug eyes faded back into the greenery. 

The infuriating pest hadn’t learned his lesson from the first time, obviously. This wasn't over. Far from it.

\----

Draco stalked into his bedroom, not quite slamming the door. He'd planned to wait until all the guests had withdrawn to the parlor and snag the bloody toad, but the looks his parents had kept sending him made it clear that wouldn't happen. So he'd acted the part of the convivial host until everyone had Flooed away, just to sit and listen to his parents lectures about his increasingly odd conduct of late.

Seemingly up at all hours talking to himself, casting hexes inside the house, bad table manners, ignoring his guests... They appreciated that he appeared more energetic of late and interested in the world around him, but they did _not_ enjoy the way some of that interest was encroaching into their ordered lives. He needed to temper his odd behavior.

Or in other words, could he stop being an embarrassment to them?

Part of him knew he was being unfair. His parents loved him, had given him everything he'd ever wanted growing up and had shown their affection in their reserved but nonetheless caring manner. They'd even given up their aspirations of a world led by pure bloods in order to make sure he was safe. It wasn't so much that he was embarrassing them than that they felt he was embarrassing himself.

But pride had always been a touchy subject, pride regarding name, family, appearance, status... It was always when he somehow wounded that pride that he was lectured or punished. And now, when their lives were dangling on the edge of society, that pride was even more keenly felt.

So for them to feel disappointed in him because of the bloody damn toad…

He kept waiting for it to pop up, but it never appeared, not even after Draco had opened the windows, a silent invitation for the wretch to try to sneak up on him. He finally settled into bed, his wand clutched in his hands in order to avoid a repeat of the other night, a cool breeze from the open windows lightly rustling his hair. 

Draco woke to the feel of his wand gently sliding through his fingers, a light tugging that probably wouldn’t have disturbed him if he hadn’t been waiting for it.

He bolted upright, his wand pointed at the cause of the disturbance.

“Woah, mate, don’t be so—”

“How dare you try to blackmail me into—”

“I just wanted you to do what you already said you were going to do! You’re the one who’s been squirming out of—”

“I already told you to pick something else—”

“I don’t want anything else! I want—”

“You can’t always have what you want!” Draco made a slashing motion with his hand, so angry he was seeing red.

“What I _want_? Does it _look_ like I’m getting what I want? Do I look _happy_ to you? I’m a bloody toad!”

“That’s not my fault! I had nothing to do with you turning into an ugly toad! Why should I be expected to—”

“You’re the only one who can understand me! You’re the first person I’ve talked to in-in _forever_ , and you throw hexes at me and keep telling me how bloody annoying I am! Do you think I _like_ having to hound you and trick you into helping me? Why won’t you just _help_ me?" The toad was almost hopping around in his agitation. "Even if only to get rid of me that much faster—” 

“Why won’t I help _you_? When has anyone ever helped _me_? Or my family? We’ve been waiting a year for someone to clear our name, and—”

“Help you? You don’t need bloody help! You’re living in a blooming _mansion_! You’ve got house elves running around in the halls, and you just had a bloody party here last night! Why the hell would you need help?”

“You think you know so much? My family was held hostage unless I killed Dumbledore. I spent a whole bloody _year_ of my life trying to kill one of the greatest wizards who ever lived, knowing that my parents would be tortured and murdered if I failed. Who helped _me_? Who saved _me_? It was only at the very end that Professor Snape—”

He broke off, nearly choking in emotion, his knuckles white around his wand.

“And ever since the end of the fucking war, we’ve been pariahs! We crossed sides in order to help Harry _fucking_ Potter, and he completely deserted us! He wouldn’t have even been able to defeat The Dark Lord if my mother hadn’t protected him! If she’d been discovered, she would’ve been killed! The Ministry’s confiscated several of our holdings, and we stay here, in this _mansion_ , because every time we go out, people spit at us and curse us and laugh at how far we’ve fallen. We would’ve been first among the Dark Lord’s followers, and instead, look at us! Don’t tell me about your suffering, because it’s nothing – _nothing_ – to what I’ve been through!”  
There was a long silence, the two of them staring at each with the words of their argument floating between them. 

“Yeah, well, I hear he was barking anyway,” Peter said awkwardly, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “You’re better off with him gone.”

It was the wrong thing to say, however. Draco didn’t want to calm down, and he was so bloody tired of trying to look at the bright side of things.

“Get out! Get out of here! If I ever see you come back, I’ll—” He couldn't express the words, he was so angry, irrationally, unnecessarily enraged. His life was not a joking matter, and he was just so bloody _tired_ of being in the wrong, being the evil one, being the unwanted one.

Draco meant the spell to just pick up Peter and fling him out the open window, shocking him and making him understand the gravity of his words but not really harming him. Nothing he had ever sent his way had been intended to seriously hurt him.

But something went wrong. Whether it was the force of his magic or his rage impairing his coordination, instead of sending Peter out into the garden, Draco slammed the little body into the window frame with a sickening thud, the momentum carrying his limp form outside, unnaturally still.

Draco stared at the open window, his wand falling unnoticed from his hand. "Pe-Peter?" he whispered. "Peter?"

There was no reply.

"Peter!" He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets in his haste. "Peter!" He raced to the window, still gasping his name. His hands gripping the frame, he leaned outward, still calling, his voice getting more and more frantic.

"Peter! Answer me you stupid toad! Peter!" He searched the grass and flowers for any sign of movement, for any indication of a body trying to struggle upright, but it was impossible to see in the darkness. His wand, his wand, where was his damn _wand_?

Cursing, he ran back to the bed, vowing to work on his wandless spells, his hands throwing aside his duvet and sheets and pillows until he finally managed to locate it on the floor, endless minutes later.

Back at the window, he cast a quick _Lumos_ , the spell almost seeming to light up the entire night sky it was so bright, so much so that he actually had to dim it in order to be able to see anything at all. And even then, the foliage was so dense, the perfectly manicured bushes, the precisely laid beds of flowers, that he was unable to find one small, frighteningly broken body amid the flora from where he stood.

"Peter!" It was a demand, a demand that he respond, that he be alright, that Draco hadn't actually hurt him. "Bloody hell, you damn annoying toad! Stop pretending! Say something! Pe—”

"Draco?"

He whirled around, only to see his mother and father standing at his door, the worry only too evident on their faces. 

"Darling, you have the house elves in quite a state! You've been yelling, and they said you've been throwing things around. Whatever is the matter?" His mother came towards him, her hand outstretched.

It would be pointless to say 'nothing,' but he didn't know if he could possibly explain. His eyes twitched towards the window.

"Draco? His mother put her palm on his cheek, turning his face to look down at her. "You look so upset." Her hand was warm against his skin. 

“It’s…it was…” He didn’t know what to say.

After a moment’s silence, she asked, "Does this have to do...with this...Peter?"

His parents already knew about his preferences, and as she said Peter's name, so delicately, so uncomfortably, Draco realized just what she was implying.

"Peter is a toad."

She blinked. 

It was such a temptation to tell them everything. However, Peter had already said that he was the only person to ever understand him, and without the actual proof that Peter was cursed, how could he possibly explain to them the whole situation without looking like a deranged fool? They were already wondering over his behavior. And the longer they stayed, the longer it would be before he could start to search for Peter again.

"I recently...took up a toad as a pet."

"You went to Diagon Alley to purchase a toad?" Lucius asked, finally stepping into the room, a confused frown on his face. "When did this happen?

"No...it was-is a toad I found...on the grounds."

"A garden toad?” They both stared at him in surprise. “Of all the possible pets to own, you decided on a common garden toad?"

"He's not common! He's extremely smart, and-and the two of us get on well." His voice trailed off as they looked at him.

"Darling, I know your father and I haven't been available to you as much as we'd like, and you haven't seen many of your friends recently, but to choose such a creature as your pet—”

"Mother, please. This is what I want."

"Well, yes, of course, but—”

"Mother, you yourself said you appreciated how much happier I've been over the past few days."

"And this is...because of your _toad_?" she asked, the puzzlement clear in her voice.

"Obviously not just because of Peter, no, but he's helped. I've enjoyed having something to take care of." He ignored the guilt that surged through him at his own words. He hadn't meant to send Peter into the window frame. He hadn’t.

"And this is why...you've been casting hexes in your room?"

He hadn't thought it was possible to feel worse than he already did. He was wrong. The reminder of his callous treatment made him want to shrink in on himself and hide from his shame.

"It’s not…not the way it appears. I was…" He couldn’t even think of a semi-plausible excuse, he was so upset and ashamed.

"Why didn't you just inform us about your pet earlier?" his father asked after a while.

He collected his scattered thoughts. "Father, I knew your and mother's reaction wouldn't be favorable, so I didn't mention Peter before. And I apologize for keeping the news from you, but it was merely because I was concerned you would want to take him away from me."

"When have we ever denied you anything you wanted?" his mother asked fondly, her eyes softening.

He nodded in recognition of her statement, looking away. This was altogether uncomfortable and frustrating, and he just wished they would go away so he could continue his search.

"But that doesn't explain what all the commotion is about," his father said brusquely.

"I…there was an accident. I didn't mean to—”

"Did he escape, dear? Toads enjoy the outdoors, but I'm sure he'll return in the morning."

He took the opening she presented quickly.

"You're right, mother. I forgot to close my windows, and he probably got bored while I was asleep. I'm sure he'll turn up tomorrow."

"Of course he will. You obviously care for him a great deal, and your affections wouldn't be misplaced in your pet. He'll be back in no time."

"Yes," he agreed, somehow summoning up a smile. He didn't know how it had happened, but he _did_ care about Peter. Ever a nuisance, the toad had still somehow managed to worm its way into his heart. He hadn't meant to hurt him. He didn't want to lose him now.

He froze. 

 

Fuck, he had _not_ just thought that.

He couldn’t really…was he really…

He wanted to bury his face in his hands. 

When had Peter stopped being just “that damn toad?”

How much of the reason he'd been so adamant against helping Peter was because he knew once Peter was returned to his old self, he'd want to leave? It wasn't like they spent that much time together or that they did anything more than argue when they did talk, but his parents were right. 

He had been much happier in the past few days than he'd been for months. 

Peter challenged him, made him do more than plod through each and every day. He didn't pity him or look down on him. He talked to him as an equal – even though Draco was obviously superior to him in every way – and it had been exhilarating to have someone in his life like that again.

Which was why he'd been so upset that Peter had been in such a hurry to get away from him.

"Very well, my darling. Please try to go to sleep now though, Draco. Peter will be back in the morning, and you should get some rest."

He looked at her concerned face and tried to organize his distracted thoughts. "You're right, mother. I'll just clean up this mess first."

"Sleep well, Draco."

"Thank you, mother, father. Good night."

As they left, he heard his father mutter to his mother, "It better not be the bloody toad that's been keeping me awake..." 

"Shh, Lucius."

He knew they would be watching his room to make sure he actually went to bed, so he stood at the window and tried one last spell.

"Accio Peter."

He stood at the window for a long time before finally turning away.

\----

Peter didn't show up the next day.

Or the next.

Draco searched the entire garden, dreading the possibility of finding a mangled body that had somehow managed to crawl a few feet away from his window but needing to know. 

But there was no sign of Peter. 

When he wasn't out looking, he stayed in his room on the off chance Peter would show or call for help. He didn't eat much, and he didn't sleep. He had never killed anyone during the entire war, but now, in a fit of pique, he'd...

Draco turned his wand over and over again in his hand, staring at nothing.

\----

"If I'd known you felt this bad about tossing me about, I might have come back sooner."

Draco's head snapped up from the chair where he'd been sitting, toying with the pudding his mother had sent to his room to try to spark his appetite. "Peter! Is that...are you—”

"Hullo."

"Where have you been?" He discarded his bowl, putting it down on the low table in front of him where it clattered in a circle before eventually coming to a stop. "I've been looking for you for days! Why didn't you come back?"

"Yeah, well, I was a little indisposed for a while."

"I...” He trailed off, leaning back into his chair as guilt made him stay in his seat.

Neither said anything for a time, Draco's hands clenched into fists in his lap.

At last, hesitantly, quietly, Draco asked, "Are you—”

"Loads better. See?" And Peter hopped around on the window sill to prove his point.

It should have been a simple thing to apologize, to open his mouth and tell Peter how horribly sorry he was, how worried he'd been, how he had never, never meant to injure him, harm him in any way. 

But how do you apologize for nearly killing someone? 

He still didn't know, even after all this time.

"I-I didn't mean...I just...it wasn't—” He stopped. 

"You can sleep on my pillow tonight," Draco said at last awkwardly. "If you still want."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You won't hex me or anything?" Peter asked. For the life of him, Draco couldn't decipher the tone of the words.

He swallowed. "No, no I won't."

Peter looked at him, and he cursed once again how difficult it was to read any sort of expression on his face. Then Peter hopped down into the room, making his ungainly way across the thick carpet before scrabbling onto his bed stand with a few strategic hops and fumbling legs. 

He didn't say a word as Peter went, not sure what to say, not sure if he was allowed to say anything.

"I wasn't planning on coming back," Peter said at last, once he was comfortably situated in his favorite spot.

"No?" He looked down. "Why did you then?"

"All the animals were complaining about how you were disrupting their lives, stumbling through the garden at all hours, turning over rocks and looking into everything."

He nodded, his eyes skittering away for a second.

"So I thought maybe I'd drop in to see if what they were saying were true."

He was silent for a long time before he asked, "And what do you think, now that you've seen it for yourself?"

Peter shrugged his little shoulders. "I think you missed me."

His looked up at the unexpected answer, and he stared, unable to believe it was that easy, wondering if he was imagining the grin Peter sent his way. 

"Come on, you prat. It's late, and I want to go to sleep."

Draco finally got up out of his chair and made his way over, the tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders for the past few days easing at last. "Of course I missed you, you stupid, ugly, annoying toad," he said quietly, responding at last to Peter's previous comment, the relief heavy in his voice. "Of course I did."

"You know if you pull a stunt like that again, though, I'll piss in your cuppa when you're not looking, right?"

He nearly tripped on his way to the bed.

\-------

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" Draco asked his companion as they walked down the crowded streets of Diagon Alley.

Peter poked out his head from the pouch Draco had crafted to go around his neck so the two of them would be close enough to talk. "Blimey, I haven't seen so many people all in one place for so long, I'd forgotten what it was like." He ducked back into his pouch as a witch's pointy hat came perilously close.

Ever since the night he had unintentionally hurled Peter into the window, their relationship had changed. Draco touched Peter all the time, no longer accusing him of trying to give him warts, allowing himself to embrace their strange friendship, no matter how short it would eventually be. He would walk around the manor or the grounds holding Peter in his hand or putting him up on his shoulder, talking and arguing with his passenger – much to his parents’ chagrin. Whatever spell was on Peter, it affected everyone within hearing range except for Draco, so his parents could only look on, nonplussed expressions on their faces, as Draco carried on his one-sided conversations.

Draco waited in resignation for the day Peter would leave him, alone and ostracized once more, but he couldn't deny the relief he felt each night as he lay in bed, Peter on his own cushion that Draco had placed on his bed stand for him, words of the future and their parting unspoken. Peter had taken Draco up on his offer to sleep on his pillow, and the next morning, Draco had waited in dread for the next and final request, the one that would take Peter away for good. 

But Peter had been surprisingly quiet about that last request, even though he must have known Draco would willingly have given him whatever he wanted at that point. He hadn't even wanted to sleep on his pillow again, content with his own. He hadn't asked for anything, and Draco knew better than to bring up the subject himself, no matter how much not knowing plagued him. And so, they kept company with each other instead, and it was...more than nice.

It _did_ make trying to find a moment to wank rather difficult since Peter was always around, but it was a small sacrifice all in all.

His thoughts were interrupted when Peter asked, "Are you sure you're alright taking me around like this? I thought you didn't like going about in public much?"

He sniffed. "Yes, well, while I prefer not to be gawked at by insipid cretins who can't remember the war was over nearly a year ago, I can put up with it now and again if needs must."

"Well...there must be something you want to get while we're here. You can't just have come out to show me around and see if anything sparks a memory..."

Draco sneered, ignoring the slight blush on his cheeks. "Of course I wouldn't come out all this way just for a git like you. I thought I'd check out the Quidditch store and pick up some—”

"Malfoy? Malfoy, is that you?"

He nearly froze at the voice, but he changed the motion into a smooth turn. "Weasley." He nodded his head in acknowledgment of the other man. The two of them would never be friends, but Weasley had stood up for him at the trial astoundingly enough, and he hadn't forgotten that he'd stayed in the Room of Requirements even though he'd wanted to leave.

He still had a habit of calling him the Weasel in his head though, which he firmly tried to ignore since it would’ve been awkward if it slipped out during their conversation.

Weasley stood in front of him, a parcel in his hands, his stance awkward, probably just as surprised at calling out to him as he'd been at hearing his name. He cleared his throat.

"Long time no see."

"Indeed. I've been spending most of my time at the Manor."

"Yeah, I heard."

The silence was tangible enough to touch.

Almost unwillingly, Draco asked, "How have you been?"

"Ah, good! Good! Yeah, busy, with Auror training and following up hints about Harry sightings, but—”

"Potter still missing then?" It was all he could do to not roll his eyes. Either Potter had abandoned the Wizarding World – leaving his family stranded in the process – or he'd disappeared because of some nefarious reason. Only Potter could have succeeded in getting lost to his own victory party.

"We've got some promising leads," Weasley said stiffly. And they must have for him to be as chipper as he was about it. The last time Draco had seen him, the subject of Potter had nearly sent him to tears.

"Good luck to you then. If you do find the – him, remind him that my family is waiting—”

Peter poked his head out of his pouch, curious about whom Draco was talking to.

Weasley's eyes got big. "Er...Malfoy...did you know you have a toad hanging around your neck?"

"Amazing. Your powers of observation are still as keen as ever, I see. It must be the Auror training that—”

"Who's this?" Peter asked, tilting his head to regard Weasley curiously. He still had the annoying habit of cutting off Draco’s sentences, but he ignored it this time in favor of proving his superiority over Weasley as he failed to understand Peter, even if he and Peter would be the only ones to know.

Draco smiled slyly. "Weasley, let me introduce you to my new toad, Peter. Peter, Weasley. Weasley, Peter. I'm sure you two will have much in common."

"Riiiiiiigghhht then. Since when have you had a toad for a pet, Malfoy? Seems unlike you. I remember you making fun of Neville for his toad, Trevor. Does your Peter crap gold or something?"

"Don't be crass, Weasley. He craps diamonds, of course."

Weasley snorted in surprise, an actual grin appearing on his face.

"You know...Weasley seems a bit familiar for some reason."

And just like that, Draco amusement over the situation disappeared entirely.

"He does? Why? What about him? Did you know—” He forced himself to stop talking and took a deep breath, ignoring the puzzled look the other man was sending his way. The whole purpose of their trip had been to see if Peter would recognize anything, but he hadn't actually expected Peter to _recognize_ anything! Especially not Weasley! Why would he recognize him of all people? Weasley had been in the _Prophet_ a lot because he was the sidekick of The Boy Who Lived, and after the war, not a day had gone by without mention of their exploits and the sudden disappearance of Potter. Was that why? Or had he actually known Weasley personally? And if so, how? So many questions, but he couldn't exactly talk about it with Peter in front of an audience.

"Look at the time! Weasley, I must get going—”

"Hey, wait, it sounded like the toad actually said something! Does your toad _talk_ Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes snapped towards him in horror.

"He understood me—”

"Woah—”

"Don't be daft Weasley!" Draco scoffed, starting to back away, his head turning from side to side as he looked for a means of escape. "Who ever heard of a talking toad? Are you off your rocker?"

"Draco—”

Weasley pointed, his eyes wide. "It sounded like he said your name!"

"Ridiculous! You must be—”

"He can under—”

Draco Apparated.

\------

Draco paced the length of his room, glancing at the window every few minutes, wondering when Peter was going to show up. He had _not_ been happy about the sudden return to the Manor the previous day. After sicking up in the pouch he was in, he'd railed at Draco, showing much more anger than ever before.

_"How could you do something like that? He might have known me!"_

_"There was no way Weasley of all people could have known you! Do you think he wouldn't have noticed if one of his friends was suddenly turned into a toad and disappeared?"_

_"But he could understand me!"_

_"Of course he could understand you! His intelligence is on par with a non-cursed toad, so it's a step up for him—”_

_"Stop it! Do you know what it's like not to know who you are, what your past is? To wonder who hated you enough to curse you? To think that the reason you're alone is because no one cared enough about you to look for you or try to break the spell?"_

_"Peter, I—”_

_"Sod off, Malfoy!"_

_"Peter—”_

_"Leave me alone!"_

That had been yesterday, and Peter still hadn't made an appearance. Draco admitted privately to himself that maybe he should have handled things differently.

"I want my final request."

Draco whirled around to see Peter sitting on the window sill, his face set in determined lines.

"Peter—”

"You need to kiss me."

" _What_?"

"Kiss me. And then I'm leaving."

"What? _Why_?"

"Because I'm tired of being a toad! I don't even remember what it's like to walk around on two legs anymore! And I'm tired of you pretending to be my friend!"

"How dare you—”

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt after you flung me around, but yesterday proved that you don't—”

"How can you say that to me? I'm your friend! I'm your only friend—”

"Because you won't let me have any others!" 

The silence rang in the room.

"Peter—”

"If you were really my friend, you would care more about me being freed than about what might or might not happen afterwards."

Draco stared across the distance of the room at him.

"You know why I haven't mentioned kissing me before?" He didn't wait for a response. "It was because I could see how upset the whole thing made you. You really thought I was going to abandon you after I got what I wanted. So I waited, thinking maybe you'd realize I wasn't just going to nick off as soon as I could. I thought you'd eventually ask me what my third request was yourself once you finally stopped being such a coward about the whole thing. But you never did, and then you took me away from the only other person who has ever been able to hear me. You don't care about me. You just want someone around to make you feel better about this miserable existence you call a life."

"That's not fair," Draco growled, his fists clenched by his side. “You have no right—”

"Master Draco, a Misters Ron Weasley and Harry Potter is asking to see you."

He spun around, ready to yell at the house elf for intruding when the names of his visitors registered. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes sir, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley is wanting to see you."

Draco stared. "Send—” He tried again. "Send them in. I'll meet them in the parlor."

The house elf bowed and was gone.

Harry Potter? _Potter_ was at his house? Why? And when had Potter been found? Ron had hinted that they were close to finding him, but _that_ close?

He turned back around to look at Peter, but Peter was gone.

\----

Potter looked...

Well, different would be the obvious choice. He just sat on the couch and stared off into space, his eyes unfocused. Draco had never realized how much presence the other man had until now as he looked at the shell of his former enemy.

"What's wrong with him?"

"We aren't quite certain." Weasley ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Kingsley thinks that during the last battle with You-Know-Who, he must have cursed Harry with something. It's like he's just not there. He can do stuff if you tell him to as long as he's done it before, but he never talks or does anything on his own, and he can't – he can't learn how to do anything new."

"How long has he been like this?" It should have been satisfying to see Potter laid so low. But more than anything, Draco thought it was just...sad. The Hero of the Wizarding World, and all he'd gotten for his efforts was a life that was even worse than his own.

"Ever since the end of the war. I can't go into it much, but the Ministry's been taking care of him. State secret. They didn't want word to leak about what happened. We've been trying to find a cure for him, but nothing we do has worked."

It was almost disturbing being in the same room as Potter, to think of that person _as_ Potter. He didn't even look the same with his features slack and no light of intelligence in his eyes. "So why are you here, Weasley? What does Potter have to do with me?”

Weasley leaned forward, his face and voice earnest. "One of the theories that came up a while back was that Harry's mind had been displaced, that maybe Voldemort had tried some sort of Apparation spell that went horribly amuck, splinching Harry's body and mind. You heard how their wands interfered with each other, right? So someone suggested we had to find Harry's mind. But that was impossible. How can you find someone's _mind_? But yesterday, when I saw you and-and Peter at Diagon Alley, I wondered if maybe...maybe the reason Peter can talk—”

Draco stood up, his world crumbling around him. "You need to leave. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do for you or Potter."

"Malfoy—”

"Are you seriously suggesting my toad – my _toad_ – is housing the mind of the Boy Who Lived? Are you mad?" Draco's eyes were wide and panicked. It couldn't be true! Once Peter was cured, he would turn back into a man, a perfectly ordinary man, and Draco would somehow make up this fiasco to him. They would be friends. They would be friends! Peter couldn't be a real toad that somehow, through bad luck and happenstance, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time to be possessed by Harry Potter! Potter hated him! If Peter turned out to be Potter— No!

Weasley stood up as well. Potter continued to stare outside the window. "Look, I know it sounds nutters," Weasley began, holding his hands up in front of himself. "But-but Peter said he thought he recognized me, and-and his _eyes_ , Malfoy. Toads don't have eyes that color."

Of course someone as poor and pathetic as Weasley would know what color toads' eyes were, Draco thought a trifle wildly. 

"They're Harry's eyes!"

"I told you to leave. You don't—”

"I'll go with him."

All three men jumped at the sound of his voice. 

"Peter—” Draco began, taking a step forward.

"Don't talk to me ever again, Draco."

"Peter—” Draco gasped.

"I can't believe you would do this to me again."

"No," he said, shaking his head, over and over again. "No, I'm not—”

"I want to leave now, Weasley."

Weasley looked between the two of them, visibly uncertain. 

"He doesn't own me! I am a man! Or-or part of one. If you really think I'm the mind of your friend, then you'll take me out of here _now_!"

Draco could have stopped them. Potter was no help, and he had enough dueling experience from the war that he would've been more than a match for Weasley, Auror training or no. He could have called the house elves who would've been more than capable of overpowering Weasley while he spirited Peter away. He could have levitated Peter out of the room and hidden him, making it impossible for Weasley to ever find him.

He could've stopped them from leaving. 

But he didn't.

\-------

"Let me in! Weasley! I know you're in there! Let me in, damn it!" Draco pounded at the door of 12 Grimmauld Place with his fist. Although the knowledge wasn't wide-spread, ever since the Fidelius Charm had been broken on Potter's house, anyone and everyone could find the place now. It was still a relatively well-kept secret, but as the son of one of highest ranking Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, Draco had known and even been in the house before. 

"Give me back my toad, you bastards!" He didn't know why Weasley had come by his house and lied to him, but lied he had, and Draco had fallen for it. He still couldn't believe it. The timing had been perfect, too. He and Peter had already been arguing, and he hadn't had a chance to explain himself yet, to get Peter to understand he did care for him and that he'd just panicked. Of course he didn't want Peter to stay a toad forever!

His knocking slowed for a second. Not forever...but maybe for a little while longer.

He had just wanted Peter to himself for a little while longer.

His knocks picked up ferocity once again. But then Weasley had showed up with his fake Potter and his creepy story, and his chances had been blown to hell. It was only as he had been lying in bed on the edge of sleep after a long and restless night that he had realized. 

Potter had reacted in surprise to Peter's appearance, just like he and Weasley! Not only had he reacted, his eyes had followed their subsequent conversation! 

Spitting and cursing, he'd climbed out of bed, pulling on his clothes.

Draco had been caught off guard yesterday, but his thoughts were fully functioning today. 

The Ministry wouldn't have hidden Potter's condition. They would have capitalized on it! The Ministry – a Safe Haven for the Boy Who Had Sacrificed All. Come see the martyr, a Galleon a look. They would've shown off all the efforts they were going to in order to save the Savior of the Wizarding World, and the people would've been pulled right in.

So that hadn't been Potter. The spectacled git was still missing. Which meant that the person who’d accompanied Weasley had been someone Polyjuiced to _look_ like Potter, but it hadn’t been the man himself. 

Which meant the reason Weasley had given for wanting Peter had been a lie as well.

But there was no denying Weasley _had_ wanted Peter. Had wanted him very much, enough to come up with his sham of a plot and Polyjuice someone into Potter and go to all that effort to get his hands on him.

The most likely reason for that made Draco's mouth go dry, his head go light headed, and his stomach nearly revolt, but he would wait for confirmation before he had a total breakdown. It was a ridiculous idea, too farfetched to actually consider, and he had no intention of even _thinking_ about it. For now, he wanted his Peter back, and he wanted to know the real reason behind all the subterfuge.

But Weasley wouldn't be at the Ministry with all this skulking about, and he wouldn't do this at his hovel of a home with all those witnesses, so the only place left...

"Let me in, I say! Do you really want everyone out here to know—”

The door opened up under his fist. “Malfoy!” Weasley’s nervous face appeared in the slit of the door. “What-what are you doing here?”

“Where’s Peter?” Malfoy hissed, pushing the door inward.

“Hey! Stop that, you prat!” Weasley pushed back, and for a moment, it was a question of who was going to succeed. 

“I know that the Potter from yesterday was a fake!” It was just a moment of weakness, but Draco was able to force the door open. Either no one had replaced the wards during the past year or Weasley had lowered them in order to talk to him, but either way, nothing kept him from stepping inside. 

“I don’t – I don’t know what you’re talking about, Malfoy!”

“Ah yes, ever the consummate actor, Weasley,” Draco sneered. “Have you thought about taking to the stage professionally?” 

Weasley grunted as Draco pushed his way past. “Now wait a damn minute, Malfoy! You can’t barge in here and—”

“Where’s Peter? What have you done with him?”

“I haven’t done anything with him! I told you yesterday, we think he might be carrying around—”

“And where is Potter today? Vacuously staring at a wall, perhaps? Drooling into his tea?”

“Malfoy, you are such a damn prick! He’s-he's taking a nap!"

"Ah, a nap... Well, I'll just find Peter and leave him to it, shall I?"

"You can't take Peter! I already told you—”

"Yes, I heard the first time, even fell for it for a minute there."

"Fell for it?" Weasley's gaze darted to the side for a second. "What do you mean?"

He rolled his eyes. "Give it up, you tosser. For a completely mindless automaton, Potter was remarkably caught off guard when Peter showed. Did his sudden appearance throw off your plans?"

Weasley looked around guiltily. "Wha-wha-what are you—” He stopped, his shoulders drooping, and sighed, finally giving it up for a bad job. "You saw that, did you?"

"Obviously."

"Bugger it." Weasley rubbed his temples with one hand. "I hoped you hadn't noticed. Hermione felt horrible about it afterwards."

"Granger? _Granger_ was Potter?"

"She was the only one I could get a hold of on such short notice," he said defensively.

"Whatever, Weasley. Only you could come up with such a complex and elaborate scheme doomed for failure from the very start—”

"Like you could've done any better, you prat!"

"—but _why_ were you after my _toad_?"

Weasley collapsed onto the sofa, looking knackered and defeated. "You don't know what's it been like, chasing after every possible clue for Harry, Portkeying out of the country on rumors, searching through curse-infected houses of known Death Eaters, trying to maintain support from the sodding Ministry after failure after failure after failure. And then you show up out of the blue with a talking toad! A toad that has Harry's eyes! I had to give it a try!" 

His eyes nearly plead for understanding, and Draco knew it wasn't so much that Weasley wanted _Draco's_ sympathy as anyone's. After a year, people _would_ have started to give up after repeated disappointment, carrying on with their own lives while the remnants of the Golden Trio were left behind.

"So you really think...Peter is Potter?" He felt vaguely nauseous even saying it out loud. 

"I don't know!" Weasley's arm covered his eyes. "I was so _sure_ when you freaked out in Diagon Alley! But when we got Peter back here yesterday... He wasn't very talkative, just kind of moped around. And he doesn't remember us at all! Well, a bit, maybe. He said we were familiar, but he doesn't know why, and wouldn't your best mate remember you?" He looked at Draco earnestly. 

"Peter said he didn't remember being a man," he said quietly, finally sitting down on a chair across from Weasley.

"Yeah..." They were both silent for a moment until Weasley jumped up and started pacing. "It has to be Harry! It has to be!"

Or maybe not, Draco thought a trifle wistfully.

"Where is Peter?"

"Huh? Oh, upstairs, sleeping. Hermione left about an hour ago 'cause she's got a test this morning, and we kept him awake til all hours, talking and trying to break the curse on him—”

Draco sat straight up on the couch. "What did you say?" They’d spent all night trying to break the curse? As if they could’ve succeeded where he failed… 

Weasley stared at him. "Um, Hermione and I kept him up all night talking and trying to break the curse on him?"

"But what about his three requests? Did you try all those?"

"Eh?"

"His three requests! Eating off your plate, sleeping on your pillow and...kissing him." Draco trailed off at the gobsmacked look on Weasley's face.

"You kissed Harry?"

"No!" Draco said, horrified. "No!" he repeated. "And besides, you don't even know if it is Potter!"

Weasley's face scrunched up. "So you kissed...Peter then?"

"No! No kissing was going on!" It should have been disgusting. The very idea of kissing a toad, his perfect lips touching that bumpy, cool skin, would've made him retch even a month ago. But it wasn't disgusting. Not that he wanted to kiss Peter as a toad...but Peter as a man...

"So what are you talking about then?"

Draco blinked, focusing on him. "Didn't you even ask him why he was with me?"

"We did, but he said he couldn't talk about it! He can't seem to talk about anything to do with his curse!"

So he had to explain all about his Snitch suddenly failing and Peter's appearance at the well and how they'd managed to become friends – with a little judicious editing, of course. Weasley didn't need to know _all_ the details after all.

"But Harry didn't mention—”

"Peter."

"Huh?"

"You keep insisting on calling him Harry, but you don't know that Peter is actually Potter. So until then, you should call him Peter."

"I do so know!"

"Based on his ability to talk and the color of his eyes! That's hardly substantial proof! I understand that you want him to be Potter, but don't get your hopes up too high." The same advice applied to him. He did _not_ want Peter to turn out to be his arch nemesis, and he would deny it for as long as he could, even while part of him was already starting to get ready for the worst. 

"I don't care what you think," Weasley said, standing up straight and tall. The quiet force of his conviction made Draco look at him, really look at him, and see just how much the other man had changed over the past year. "It's Harry. I know it. We've found him."

Sodding Gryffindors.

It had just taken a conversation with Draco for Weasley to go from unsure to adamant. Stupid contrarian.

"Have it your way then."

Eventually, Weasley sat back down across from him. "So all I have to do is let him eat off my plate, sleep on my pillow and kiss him? Then he should turn back to himself?"

Draco's eyebrow rose. Weasley was going to kiss Peter?

No. 

No bloody way in hell.

"I don't think that's the best idea actually," he said, just barely able to refrain from twitching at the thought of Weasley putting his lips anywhere near Peter. He was _not_ getting jealous about a toad, damn it. It just didn't make _sense_ for Weasley to go through all that when Draco only had the last request to fulfill. "I've already fulfilled the first two requirements—”

"I'm not letting you kiss Harry! What if you—”

"Don’t be dim, Weasley. I’ve been living with Peter for days now, and nothing’s happened to him yet.” Nothing sexual, at any rate. And nothing _bad_. 

Or at least, not permanent. 

Or on purpose…

“Yeah, well Harry said—” and Draco had a horrible moment where he wondered what exactly Harry had said about him. Had he told them about hexing him? About nearly breaking his back? And he couldn’t stop either the guilt or the feeling of betrayal that thought engendered, no matter how unwarranted it really was. “—that you two had been arguing, and you were always an arse, Malfoy, and who knows what you’d do now that you know it’s actually Harry! You always hated Harry!”

“Well, Potter was an attention-seeking, know-it-all git!” Draco retorted, before shaking his head. “But that was a bleeding year ago. Give me some credit for having matured and moved on.” And Potter had saved his life. And accepted his family into Hogwarts after everything had gone down. Not that he would ever bring up either of those things to Weasley of all people. 

And besides. Potter or not, Draco’s hands clenched, it was still Peter.

“But—”

“Look Weasley. For all you know, the reason Peter didn’t mention anything was because the curse could only be broken by one person once the steps were initiated – namely me – so it’s too late for you anyway. And do you really want to mess up his chance of turning back to normal because you’re worried about old school rivalries?”

Weasley hesitated, obviously torn.

Draco rolled his eyes. “If nothing else, if we wait for you to do it, it’ll be tomorrow at the earliest before we find out if this worked. If we do it my way, we can find out in, say…two minutes.”

“Alright, alright! But I’m staying in the room when you do it!” he said, pointing his finger at Draco suspiciously. “So no funny business!”

Draco arched his eyebrows at him, his expression excruciatingly dry.

Weasley coughed. “Um…this way.”

It was as they were climbing the stairs that the full import of what he was planning to do really struck Draco. What if Peter refused to kiss him?

Oh Merlin, he was worried about being rejected by a toad, a _cursed_ toad at that.

If Weasley hadn’t been accompanying him, he would’ve stopped to bash his head against the wall a few times.

“Weasley,” he said quietly, once they had stopped outside a door, preventing the other man from turning the knob, “Can I have one minute alone with Peter?”

He kept talking, ignoring the outraged expression on Weasley’s face. “Just for a minute. I just have to talk to him before… ” He swallowed. “I’ll call you in before I actually kiss him. Please,” he added, when he wavered.

“How do I know you won’t try to kidnap him or—”

And people thought _Slytherins_ held a grudge. “I could’ve stopped you from leaving yesterday. I didn’t. I won’t do anything to him. My word on it.”

He half expected him to say something disparaging about how much value his word actually carried, but he didn’t say anything, just looked at him intently as if weighing his very soul.

“Just for a minute,” Weasley warned finally, stepping away from the door. 

“Thank you,” Draco replied gravely.

In a nod to Weasley’s concern, he left the door partially open. It took a minute for him to find Peter, finally seeing him on the bed, right below the pillow and above the line of the blankets, as if they had expected him to turn human overnight. He was obviously awake since he turned his body away from Draco.

“Peter,” he began.

“I told you I didn’t want you talking to me anymore,” came the raspy reply.

There were so many things he could have said in reply, so many excuses he could have made or lies he could have told. It would have been easy.

So instead he said simply, “I’m sorry.” It was difficult to choke out, not because he was unwilling to say the words, but because the words meant so much.

Peter eventually looked around when nothing else was forthcoming.

“That’s it?”

“Yes,” he said, almost stepping further into the room but stopping at the last moment. “No. I…there’s nothing I can say…I don’t have…I was just—”

“Wow, you’re really bad at this, aren’t you?” Peter huffed, finally turning around to look at him, thankfully interrupting his absurd babbling. “So you finally realized it would actually be better for me to be human than a toad?”

“Of course it would! I just—”

“Then this is where you say, ‘Peter, I promise to never do it again.’”

Draco blinked. “Er, I won’t do it again?”

Another one of those disconcerting eye rolls. 

“Too right you won’t, you wanker.”

The exasperated fondness in his voice was enough, and Draco knew they would be alright. He didn’t understand why or how Peter could be so forgiving. There were no other words of recrimination, no hints of looming revenge, no sign that Peter would hold this over his head, demanding some sort of recompense. 

It was vaguely disappointing. 

Not because he didn’t appreciate the gesture or want to be forgiven. But after his major mess up before and doing something else so soon on the heels of his first mistake, he’d been ready to do something dramatic, something _amazing_ to show Peter that he _deserved_ to be friends with the toad again. He didn’t have anything in _mind_ as of yet…but the thought was there.

So it was a little bit of a letdown that none of that had been necessary.

Not that he was going to complain per se…

“Are you done yet?” Weasley yelled through the door. It nearly made him jump, and while annoying, he admitted to being a little grateful for the interruption. He didn’t know quite what to say to the Peter who might be Potter.

“Yes, yes, come in, Weasley,” he said, moving aside to make room for him. 

“Let’s get this over with then,” Weasley announced, the bravado in his voice at odds with the nervous look on his face. 

“Get what over with?” Peter asked, hopping closer to the edge of the bed.

“Draco’s come to kiss you. Don’t worry though! I won’t let him do anything more than that!”

“Spare me your inane fears about ponces,” Draco sardonically, annoyed by all the not-so-subtle jabs. “No matter what you’ve heard, I don’t actually want to throw you down and ravish you.”

Weasley’s eyes tried to pop out of his head. “You’re a _pouf_ , Malfoy?”

“Why yes, Weasley. Couldn’t you tell?” he said, letting his wrist hang limply as he cocked his hip, getting sadistic pleasure at the pained look on his face.

“Argh! Don’t tell a man that right before you plan on kissing his best mate!”

“I thought you knew. Why else were you going on about protecting Peter’s virtue?”

“I wasn’t— I was worried you were going to punch him or something after he changed back!”   
“Ah.” A moment of silence. “I suppose that’s a legitimate concern.” 

He nearly smiled at the look on Weasley’s face.

“You are so gullible, Weasley. You make it almost too easy.”

“Why-why you—”

A loud croak stopped them both, and they turned to look at Peter’s, one small webbed hand tapping against the bed impatiently. “Can we get on with it?”

“Bu-but _Harry_! Did you hear him—”

“Ron, let it go. He’s just taking the piss.”

If that wasn’t the oddest moment of déjà vu, Draco didn’t know what was – winding up Weasley, only to have Potter come along and pull him away.

It really might be true.

Peter didn’t even care that Weasley called him Harry.

He walked slowly towards the bed and picked Peter up carefully in his hands until they were almost eye level. This would be the last time he would hold him like this, the last time it would be just the two of them.

“Hey, what did I tell you before? Stop acting like I’m dying or something, and kiss me already.”

Draco dredged up a small smile. Peter didn’t understand, couldn’t understand with his lack of memory. Everything would change if he turned out to be Potter. They had too much history, too much antagonism for them to carry on the easy friendship that had developed. 

So if his smile was tinged with a hint of sadness, he tried to hide it as much as possible as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to cool flesh.

Nothing happened. 

He pulled back and waited for Peter to start glowing or the house to start shaking or something to happen.

But there was nothing.

The look on Peter’s face was all too devastatingly easy to read for once.

“It-it didn’t work,” Weasley said, the disappointment heavy in his voice.

If Peter hadn’t been in his hands, he would’ve turned around and flayed him alive for that idiotically obvious and hurtful statement. But he had more important things to focus on at the moment than Weasley’s lack of tact.

“Maybe,” he whispered, shutting out the other man completely and bringing Peter close by once again, “maybe I should try again? Are you sure it was just one kiss you needed?”

“I-I don’t know. I thought so, but—” It hurt Draco to hear the misery in his voice.

“Maybe…close your mouth. Maybe it needs to be on the…er, lips?”

Peter shrugged despondently but closed his lips as requested.

No matter how much Draco liked Peter, he couldn’t stop the reflexive scrunching of his nose as he leaned in, but he made sure to keep his lips against Peter’s mouth for a few seconds before backing away. 

“How do you feel—”  
It was very odd, Draco decided, as he lay on the ground, a pounding headache forming from where his head had hit the ground, his chest aching from being sat on so violently, trying to get his breath back.

He had never really appreciated Potter’s looks. He’d been short, his clothes had been atrocious, his hair had resembled a haystack, his glasses had been ridiculous…

But he couldn’t deny that a naked Potter, sitting on his chest with his strong legs to either side of his head, his penis nearly brushing Draco’s chin, was a sight to behold. It actually made the fact that he was seeing _two_ Potters worthwhile.

Had Potter always been this deliciously muscled? Being a toad must do wonders for the physique, he thought randomly. And being outside all the time had given Potter quite the golden tan, nicely setting off the black hair across his torso that pointed downwards to much more interesting areas. And his eyes… Draco had never seen him without his glasses.

It was almost enough to keep him from looking down. 

Almost.

Oh yes. 

_Definitely_ good that he was seeing two Potters.

Although Potter hadn’t been the featured performer, he’d had fantasies about this sort of thing.

“ _Harry_!”

Draco nearly gave himself a concussion – a worse one at any rate – when he jerked his head back – when had he raised it? – when he finally remembered they weren’t actually alone.

“Do you _mind_ , Potter?” he asked acerbically, desperately trying to gather the remnants of his pride around himself. It really was Potter. 

Peter was gone.

Confused emerald eyes blinked down at him.

“Harry!” There was no way to mistake the absolute joy in that voice. “Come on, mate! Let’s get you off Malfoy and into bed. We’ll have you right in a jiffy. Don’t worry about anything! We’ll—”

Draco blocked out the rest of his rambling as Potter finally rose on shaky legs with Weasley’s help and tottered over to the bed.

It really was Potter.

It was easy to slip out of the room. Neither man was paying attention to him, and although his head was hurting like mad, his eyesight had cleared. His chest still hurt, but that was entirely Potter’s fault for being so fat.

It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else.

At least, he thought right before he closed the door to 12 Grimmauld Place behind him and Apparated home, at least he’d paid all his debts. And Potter was human again. 

Surely that was enough?

\-----

It was amazing how much could change in a month.

A month ago, he and his parents had been virtual hermits, living in strained courtesy on the edge of society. But after Potter’s sudden appearance and effusive and extremely vocal support of both Narcissa and Draco, they were once again at the top of the Wizarding World. 

People who had barely refrained from spitting on them were now cozying up and begging to touch their robes, to bask even a second in their reflected glory.

“I wouldn’t have been able to defeat Voldemort if it weren’t for Mrs. Malfoy…

“Draco saved my life…

“I hate to think about how they’ve been suffering over the past year…

“I owe their family so much…”

He should’ve been happy.

…

Who was he kidding?

He _was_ happy. How could he _not_ be happy? His Slytherin housemates had gathered around him once again, he was surrounded by obsequious sycophants that scurried to kiss his boots as soon as he stuck his foot out, and the Wizarding World was lauding his achievements and bemoaning the unjust treatment he’d received over the past year. His picture was in The Prophet almost every day. Admittedly, not the front page which was still reserved for Potter, but it was there nonetheless. 

The biggest problem was that Potter’s picture _was_ there on the front page, was anywhere and everywhere his picture could possibly be. Every time Draco turned around, he could see that shy, nervous smile, lights flashing around him, people screaming as the Boy Who Lived Again waved awkwardly in acknowledgement. It made it impossible to ignore him, to forget about him and move past the days when they’d been actual friends.

For all that Potter had championed them in public, he’d never been by to see hi-them. Not once.

It shouldn’t have mattered. What did they really have in common after all? They’d spent much more time at each other’s throats than they’d spent talking, and all of the latter had been when Draco – and Harry – hadn’t known what they were doing. 

So what if they’d spent almost two weeks actually liking each other?

Or that Draco had stopped hating Potter during the war? 

Or that he’d even felt an odd sort of kinship with him, forced to play a part in a battle that should’ve had nothing to do with him? 

Or that he’d felt grateful to him for saving his life and trying to save the life of his best chums?

Or that he’d been Draco’s only friend for a brief while?

Or that he’d forgiven him time and time again?

Or that he’d been sitting naked on his chest?

Pfft! Like that mattered!

Stupid Potter.

Stupid, funny, too-caring-for-his-own good Potter.

\-----

“You are such an insufferable arse, Malfoy!”

Draco blinked. That had decidedly _not_ been the reaction he’d been expecting when he’d heard Harry Better-Than-Everyone-Else Potter had finally decided to call on him at the Manor. To prove that he was immune to Potter’s celebrity status and completely unaffected by the fact that this would be the first time they’d met in almost two months, he’d even made him wait in the parlor for a good ten minutes.

It had nothing to do with him changing his outfit three times, redoing his hair or brushing his teeth.

So it was with a heavy heart that he heard those words fall from Potter’s lips. Apparently, hostilities were to resume.

He opened his mouth to deliver some scathing retort, to positively decimate Potter with his wit, never mind the fact that he couldn’t think of anything to say or that he felt that he was choking. He just knew that he’d reduce Potter to tears, to a humiliated ball of— 

And then Potter stood and crushed him to his chest.

Draco’s jaw dropped when he realized Potter was hugging him and not actually trying to smother him on his annoying, broad, muscular chest.

“It’s been two months,” Potter muttered. “And you never came to visit me once. Not once!”

Draco lifted his head in indignation from his shoulder where he’d decidedly _not_ been resting it in relieved gratitude, unable to believe Potter was stealing his line.

“Do you know how disorienting it was the first few weeks, trying to match up my memories, turning around and expecting to see you—” Here, Potter snorted. “Bloody hell, expecting to be sitting on your damn shoulder or hanging in that dodgy pouch you made, only to realize you weren’t there?”

Potter finally let him go, but only enough to grab his arms and shake him a bit.

“I—”

“I know it must’ve been something of a shock to find out Peter was Harry Potter, but I-I thought we were friends.”

“We—”

“And you left me alone with nearly complete strangers – I know it was Ron and Hermione, but I didn’t remember them at first! – and I kept thinking you’d come back—”

“You—”

“They kept expecting me to suddenly remember everything, and the disappointed looks they kept sending me—”

“Potter!” His eyes widened at Draco’s sharp tone. “Your frustrating tendency to cut off all my sentences has obviously carried over from your days as a toad! _Will_ you let me respond?” 

He blinked sheepishly, and Draco was relieved that he could finally read the expressions on his face, so open and unguarded.

“Er, right. Sorry about that. Toads aren’t the best conversationalists, mostly ‘this is my territory – get off,’ or ‘I’m bigger and more virile than that guy,’ or stuff like that. Takes forever to get them to think about anything else, and I guess I got used to doing all the talking.”

When Potter pulled back, dropping his arms to his side, Draco added that guilt to what he already carried, like a drop of water to the ocean. His words had come out harsher than he’d intended, but hearing Potter’s pained questions had been driving the knife into his chest, and he’d just wanted him to stop. He hadn’t ever considered what it would look like to him that Draco had left.

It didn’t help that he felt guilty about being happy that Potter had missed him.

“I—” He didn’t realize he was rubbing his arms where he’d been touching him until Potter turned to look at him, and he froze. “I didn’t think you’d want me to be there when you remembered,” he said quietly.

Potter eyebrows – so expressive now that they were back to normal – furrowed in a puzzled frown for a second before relaxing, his face a study of disbelieving exasperation. “You – you’re such a gormless wanker, Malfoy! I told you we’d be friends after I turned back, didn’t I?”

“That was before we knew who you were,” Draco said stiffly.

Potter’s face became blank, and he nearly frowned at not being able to read what he was feeling. “Are you saying… Is that why you didn’t come visit me? Because you didn’t want—”

“No, Potter,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d want to be friends with _me_.”

“But I do want to be friends with you,” Potter said quietly.

“Well…good,” Draco said at last, surprised, as always, by his blunt honesty. He felt warmth seep through his whole body. “Good.”

\-----

It was maddening. Enough to drive a man off his trolley.

Potter touched him. _All the time_. 

Ever since that first visit, Draco found himself spending inordinate amounts of time with the other man, alone or in the company of Weasley and Granger – whom he’d stopped thinking of as the Weasel and the Mudblood for weeks now – completely ignoring his sycophants and sidestepping the other Slytherins.

After spending a year as a toad, Potter was more determined than ever to stay out of the limelight, and he kept to private places with a tenacity that drove the three of them crazy.

It wasn’t that he never wanted to return to the public eye. Potter still had dreams about becoming an Auror, and he missed his old friends, and he wanted to go back to the places he’d been, and he wanted to explore all the places he’d only heard about…

But he didn’t want to do it when his memories still had holes, and when he forgot himself and did odd things at odd moments – Weasley still snickered, albeit never when Potter was in the room, about the way he had stared and stared and _stared_ at insects those first few days, his hands twitching as if he were going to reach out and grab them and stuff them into his mouth – and when the hullabaloo of his reappearance was still rampant, and when the anniversary of the Dark Lord’s defeat was around the corner. 

So he ended up spending a lot of time with Draco during the day, while Weasley and Granger were at work, and they kept mostly to Malfoy Manor of all places, where he could roam outside without worrying about being hounded by the press and where he could learn to be himself again.

The first time Potter had gone up on a broom again had been a thing of beauty.

And Draco had been the only one allowed to see it.

The problem was that _Potter_ was a thing of beauty.

Intellectually, he knew there had been too much going on for him to notice or care what Potter had looked like back then. But now…now it was amazing to think how blind he’d been. 

He still had the same stocky frame, a little on the short side, although Draco thought he might have grown a little since the end of the war, and he definitely looked more fit, and his hair was impossible, and his glasses were a disaster, but…

Obviously, Potter hadn’t smiled much around him when they’d been in school, but how could he have not seen that reckless, daring smile of Potter’s before? It was crooked and filled with amusement and it exuded a confidence that he never saw otherwise, and it completely transformed Potter, turned him for a second into the person he was meant to be – a person without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It made Draco want to fall halfway in love with him.

It didn’t help matters that Potter touched him. A hand on his arm, a careless hug, his feet pressed lightly to his own under the table… Small things. Stupid things. Potter did it to Ron and Hermione as well whenever they were in the room. Apparently, being touch starved for a year had made him hungry for contact.

But it was going to drive him mental.

How could someone who’d gone through so much in his life have such an easy, infectious laugh? How could he have such unclouded eyes and optimistic thoughts? How could he be so cheerfully sly one moment and the next, so eager and open?

And if Draco thought the days were bad, the nights were even worse. During the day, he could concentrate on Potter’s words, Potter’s laugh or gestures, but at night…at night, he kept replaying over and over again what Potter looked like naked, sitting on his chest, those hazy green eyes staring down at him.

He was going to wank himself raw.

Draco had thought he’d wanted to keep _Peter_ all to himself… It was nothing. Nothing in comparison to this.

He wanted Potter.

He wanted him so much his fingers trembled at times with the urge to touch him. 

“Malfoy,” Potter said, huffing in annoyance. “If you aren’t going to pay attention, why’d you even bother to ask?”

He looked at Potter in surprise. He had never noticed Draco’s drifting thoughts before. 

“I heard you,” he said truthfully. He was so used to thinking about Potter that he could actually pine after him while carrying on a full conversation.

“What did I say then?” he challenged, smiling.

“The Dark Lord’s Death Curse. Doomed to stay a toad until an enemy set you free.” And it had to have been an enemy. Even if Weasley had kissed Potter, it wouldn’t have broken the spell.

Potter’s eyes crinkled in amusement, waiting to catch him out. “What else then?”

“No one could understand you. You had to wait until someone would be indebted to you before you could speak.” Which at least explained why both he and Weasley had been able to understand him, since they both owed him debts from before.

He nodded at last, satisfied that Draco had actually been listening and leaned back on the grassy knoll, his arms under his head as he looked up at the clouds in the sky.

How could he look so happy when talking about the curse he’d been under for the past year of his life? Potter hadn’t made him recite it all, but Draco shuddered as he thought about the rest of the spell. 

Potter hadn’t gone into detail about the night he’d defeated the Dark Lord, but Draco could just imagine how the Dark Lord must have laughed in spite as he lay dying, cursing Potter with life. 

Although forcibly transfigured into a toad, Potter would have retained the lifespan of a man. He would’ve been stuck in that form for another sixty years or so, waiting for someone to come along, losing more and more of his memories as time went on. On top of that, the Dark Lord had made sure he wouldn’t have a quick end, unnaturally increasing his healing abilities so he recovered from virtually any life threatening wound. The power stayed dormant, however, if Potter’s life wasn’t at stake. 

While that had turned out to be a blessing – and Draco couldn’t stop from flinching when he’d realized the only reason Potter was still around after the window incident was because of the curse – the intent behind it had been incredibly sadistic.

It didn’t help salve his conscience that the curse had purposefully made spells act wonky around Potter, thereby explaining why he’d been able to get around wards and why all the spells aimed at freeing him hadn’t worked. His levitating spell shouldn’t have caused him to careen into the window edge, but for all that, Draco still couldn’t banish the image of his broken body from his mind.

And the fact that Potter could only be rescued by an enemy… How the Dark Lord must have laughed as he used the last of his power to Apparate Potter to Malfoy lands, far from any road or town.

“Hey, don’t look so glum.” Draco looked over at him. He hadn’t known his thoughts had been so apparent. “Here I am, after all. It worked out in the end.”

Potter smiled warmly, and he couldn’t help but smile back softly. 

“Besides, I got the last laugh in the end. Voldemort never expected us to become best mates, right?”

His smile faltered the tiniest bit, but he was able to hide it with a nod of his head. “Right.”

\-----

It was a cowardly thing to do. He knew that. But he had just needed some time away from Potter. Just for a little bit. A chance to catch his breath and not be constantly at his side, so he didn’t have to brace for those small touches, so he didn’t have to be on guard about what he said.

Potter had probably not even noticed he was gone. He’d finally started meeting up with his old circle of friends once again and venturing out occasionally, and more and more it had become apparent to Draco that he didn’t really need him around anymore. It was only a matter of time before Potter was entering Auror training, or trying out for a Quidditch team, or something.

He was surprised it had taken him this long, actually.

And it had been nice to meet up with his other friends during the past week at his family’s chateau in France. He’d been ignoring them for the past few months in order to be with Potter, which was neither sound strategy politically or emotionally.

He’d been spending too much time with him, forgetting his obligations as both a Malfoy and as a man. Now that he no longer resided in limbo, he could start enacting his own plans for the future. There were, of course, the family holdings and businesses he could become more involved in, or he could always pursue a career in curse-breaking. All that time he’d spent the last year of school, as well as recent events, had given him an intense interest in curses. 

And maybe if he went out more, he could find someone to relieve him of his ill-fated obsession with Potter.

He could hope at the very least.

But when Potter walked into his bedroom, just hours after he came home, he couldn’t stop his heart from speeding up, from drinking him in with eyes like an alcoholic with a bottle of one hundred year old scotch. 

“Potter, what are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?”

“I live here,” he said dryly, enjoying the frustrated, agitated look on the other man’s face simply because it was proof that he affected Potter. _I did that_ , he thought. _I put that look on his face._

“Don’t be a prat, Malfoy! You’ve been gone for a week!”

“I told you I was going to visit friends in France.”

“But a _week_?”

He shrugged.

“You didn’t even invite me!”

“Potter,” he said acerbically, “I highly doubt you would have accepted an invitation considering the last I heard, your idea of fun was _not_ getting reacquainted with the whole of Slytherin House.”

“I would’ve done,” Potter objected, raking his hand through his tousled hair. “If I’d known you were going to be gone so long, I would’ve.”

His heart stuttered at the misleading words, and he dredged up a smile, pretending an amusement he didn’t feel. “If you’re not careful, Potter, I’ll think you missed me.”

“I _did_ miss you, Malfoy,” he muttered, his eyes skirting away before locking on his fiercely, all the foolish bravery of the past in his gaze.

Draco’s mouth went dry. “Yes, well, Weasley and Granger were around to keep you company. I’m sure you didn’t miss me all that much,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. He turned around, and to give his hands something to do, he waved his wand, unpacking his bag, his clothing rising one by one into the air and traveling towards his closet.

One of his favorite robes nearly toppled to the ground when Potter said, “I missed you every day.” And when he embraced Draco from behind, resting his forehead on his shoulder, all his clothes fell in rumpled heaps on the ground.

“What are you doing, Potter?” he grated out, staring straight ahead. He hated the way Potter tensed, knowing that if he cared to look, he would see puzzlement and hurt on his face. And even more than that, he absolutely despised the way his treacherous body wanted to sink back into his arms, wanted to soak up that contact like parched earth craved the first drop of rain.

Potter had no idea what these innocent touches were doing to him.

But it didn’t make their impact any less devastating.

“I missed you,” Potter repeated faintly, as if he expected the words to make a difference the third time around.

He had missed him. But not the way he wanted him to.

Draco couldn’t do this anymore. He was going to drown, be completely subsumed by Potter if he let this keep up. 

“I am not your stuffed bear or security blanket, Potter!” he said, pulling away from the warm arms and turning around to glare.

Just as he‘d thought, the look on Potter’s face was confused and wounded, although the first stirrings of anger were taking their place.

“I never said you were!”

“Then why do you insist on treating me like one? Dragging me around with you wherever you go, hanging on to me—” He stopped at the look Potter sent him.

“You—” Potter tried again. “You never told me it bothered you.”

It didn’t. It was…one of the best things in his life.

He hardened his resolved. “I’m telling you now!” 

“Why? Be-because you were with your friends all week? Tossing me over now that you’ve got other people to toady up to you—”

Draco gave a sharp bark of laughter at his unfortunate word choice, and Potter’s eyes burned.

“Why are you—”

“Maybe I’m tired of being your friend, Potter!”

He had never spoken truer words, and his sincerity was all too obvious to see.

It was all he could do to not take back the words, though, when Potter flinched back.

Fuck, what was he doing? 

He ran a restless hand through his hair before finally blowing out a long breath and slumping down on the side of his bed, his wand at his side and his head in his hands. At the rate he was going, he would drive Potter away for good, and the thought of never seeing him again, of never seeing the glow of green eyes, the crooked smile, the sheer _happiness_ of his expression when he saw Draco was more terrifying than any torture he was experiencing now.

He spoke into his hands. “I didn’t mean it,” he said tiredly. “It’s just been a long day. Just go, Potter. I’ll – I’ll find you tomorrow when I’m not in such a foul mood.”

He waited to hear the quiet sounds of Potter’s footfalls fading away. So of course the stupid prat had to crouch down in front of him instead.

“Potter,” he began wearily.

“I was going to wait,” Potter said, his voice filled with shaky determination. “I was going to be supportive about you meeting up with other people, and I wasn’t going to say anything. I was going to let you shine, Malfoy, because I know how much that means to you. But—” At this, Draco finally lifted up his head, only to see his shaggy head duck down.

“But now that you’re actually…I didn’t…don’t – don’t leave me,” he said to the ground at last, before lifting his chin up and capturing him with his eyes, the faintest trace of fear in them.

“What are you saying, Potter?” he asked slowly, unable to believe what he was seeing, unwilling to give in to the hallucination.

In one of the most awkward and gutting moments of his life, Potter reached for his hand and said, “I..I know that you’re, er, queer, and I—”

If his wand hadn’t rolled under his leg, he might very well have reached for it at that moment, the pain in his chest was so great at what Potter was so carelessly offering. “Fuck you! I won’t be your crutch while you ease back into society!” Draco hissed, standing up. “Don’t think you can throw me a bone—”

“What?” Potter nearly fell onto the ground, just catching himself with his hand as he stared up at him. “What? No! That’s not what I meant!”

The silence was louder than any words.

“I’m totally mucking this up,” Potter sighed, sitting down on the ground at his feet with his knees up and his arms draped over them. 

“I have all my memories back,” he said, leaning his head back and looking up at Draco. “I remember that last year, being with Ginny. Loving Ginny.”

There was no excuse for the jealousy that roared through him.

“But that’s…that’s all like a dream or something… Now…now the only person I want to be with is you, Malfoy.”

He stared, completely dumbfounded.

“I kept thinking I would tell you…after you’d had a chance to be out and about again, so you wouldn’t choose me because I was the only person around…”

It was like hearing the words through a long tunnel, an almost echoing effect and a long delay between hearing Potter say the words and actually understanding them.

“…I remembered how worried you were I’d piss off after the curse was broken, and I didn’t want that to be the reason—”

“You fancied me…all this time?”

“I just…I missed you when you left me that first time. It was so stupid, because you were only nice to me for a few weeks, but I couldn’t help wishing you were around. And then you were so…it was so easy to be around you. You were still a bloody git half the time, but I…I was so damn happy when you… But when I started talking about getting back in the swing of things, you kept pulling back, so I – I acted like I was more nervous about it than I really was, and I realized…I didn’t expect…”

It was amazing how eloquent a bunch of false starts and hanging sentences could be.

“And then you were gone for a week!” Potter seemed grateful for the opportunity to shy away from his fumbling words and started to frown. “In France! And you hear all these crazy rumors about Slytherin goings-on, and I—”

“I should hex you just on principle since you didn’t tell me all this before,” Draco interrupted, still slightly in shock but starting to feel the tiniest bit giddy by the turn of events. He dropped down to the rug in front of Potter.

“Are you going to?” Potter asked, eyeing him warily, well acquainted with Draco’s hexing propensity.

“No, but only because I have more important things to do right now. I’ll hex you later.” And he pulled him in for a kiss.

It was nothing like the first time they’d kissed. For one, Potter had actual lips this time around. And two, Draco knew that Potter wasn’t going anywhere afterwards.

Potter gasped as Draco’s mouth moved over his, his hands already at work on Potter’s buttons. “Malfoy,” he managed to rasp out when Draco moved to his neck. “Should we really be going so fast? I don’t want to rush you—”

It was all he could do not to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of that statement, as if it were Potter and not Draco who was nearly popping buttons off in order to get rid of their clothes faster.

“Potter,” he growled, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, “if you think I plan on slowing things down after being tortured by your damn hugs and constant touches for the past few months, then you’re even more daft than I took you for in school.”

Those eyes were going to kill him, he thought as he watched them brighten in joy, his hands slowing down for a second as he lost himself in green.

“Brilliant!” Potter whispered, pulling Draco’s head down once more, his own fingers fumbling at Draco’s clothes.

He reminded himself sternly while he pushed everything to the side that Potter had never been with a man before, and that he shouldn’t go too far too fast, and that they had all the time in the world now so starting off with the basics would be more than enough.

He’d forgotten that Potter went where even angels feared to tread. 

One minute, he’d been in clear control of the situation, kneeling over Potter and planning to give him the best wank of his life. 

The next, he was flat on his back, blinking up in astonishment as wicked green eyes peered down at him. He might have said something, but Potter was wearing that smile again, the one that made things tingle low in his belly and made him look so daring and carefree, and rather than object and possibly chase that smile away, he decided to see where this would go.

“Do you know how many books I’ve read about…all of this?” Potter gestured sheepishly, although how he could look so shy when the two of them were naked, Draco didn’t know. He couldn’t resist teasing him.

“You actually read books?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or did you just listen when Granger explained what she’d read?”

The way Potter’s face completely scrunched up in horror was more than enough payment for the fact Draco had just imagined Granger having anything to do with their sex life.

“Shut it, you,” Potter ordered, lying down on top of him carefully.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes at the feel of him.

“I can read books, you know,” Potter complained breathlessly, moving his hips slightly and eliciting a soft sound from Draco as a result.

This was really happening. It really was.

“For instance, let me show you something I read about that I can do with my tongue,” Harry whispered into his hair, making little shivers run down his body. “It’s amazing what being a toad can do for your tongue muscles.”

Indeed.

Draco’s eyes flew open as Potter started to move down his body. 

He couldn’t be talking about—

He wouldn’t—

Yes, he actually was.

Draco couldn’t stop the way his hips jerked as wet, constricting heat enveloped him. 

For all that he’d never done this before, Potter evidently _had_ been researching because the things he was doing should be considered Dark Magic considering the strangled reactions it evoked.

His tongue was in constant motion, undulating against his flesh, rubbing against the head of his prick and fucking the slit, pressing against the vein that ran down his length and somehow seeming to wrap _around_ his shaft.

Sweet Merlin, Potter’s tongue should be made into a national treasure.

Not to say that every move was expert. Book learning can only teach so much without practical application, after all, and at one point, the old Draco might have mocked the way Potter coughed and choked slightly and had to pull off. 

However, he was too busy crying out at the loss and trying to pull him back down, his hips arching up fervently, to pay heed to his old habits.

It was quite a shock, however, when Potter pulled away completely.

“Potter,” he warned, panting, his grey eyes wild as he glared, “get back down here before I—” 

“Don’t worry. I’m not finished yet,” he promised darkly, and as Draco laid there, his body a trembling, ruined wreck, Harry shifted his legs, rolling them up and out, and bowed his head. 

“Aaaaahhhhh!” Draco convulsed as Potter’s tongue licked and then breeched him.

It was too much. It has been over a year since anyone had touched him like this, and he had wanted Potter for so long…

Potter’s tongue pierced him fully before pulling back out in a long, slow scraping against the ring of muscle.

Later, Draco would be appalled by desperate whimpers he made, the way his hands clawed and gripped the carpet under him, the way his thighs had pressed against Potter's hands as his body clenched up in pleasure. Later, he would flush fiercely at the way his hips wantonly thrust up against Potter's face as he shook and shuddered, coming apart helplessly all over his own chest.

At the moment, however, all he could do was gasp and blink up at the ceiling, shivers still running up and down his body as Potter lowered his legs.

Cautious green eyes peeked up over his knees. "Err...you alright, Malfoy?"

“Potter,” he said rather breathlessly, “what was that?”

“Um, didn’t you like it?”

Draco could feel the copious amount of cum sliding down his chest, and he couldn’t control the enormous blush that suffused his cheeks. To distract himself, he asked, “Are you sure you haven’t done something like this before?”

“I told you,” Potter said, grinning cheekily, his own blush making his face ruddy, “I read books.”

He snickered, the euphoria from his orgasm just starting to fade. “Read books, he says…” He gazed up at his fascinating ceiling once more before looking back down.

“You know,” he drawled, thinking he liked the way Potter’s face looked framed by his thighs, “some men go their whole lives without having that done to them.”

It made Potter’s face grow even redder. “Yeah, well, I wanted to prove that this wasn’t going to be an experiment or-or one off, that I was willing to, you know, do it all.”

Draco contentedly closed his eyes, arching his eyebrows as he mocked, “So with typical Gryffindor bullheadedness, you decided to throw yourself off the cliff into the cesspool of homoerotic activities.” 

Potter hummed in sheepish agreement.

“Speaking of which,” he said, shaking off his growing languor, “I believe it’s my turn to reciprocate,” and he stretched leisurely before smiling at Potter with a particularly arch look.

He hadn’t realized Potter could get any redder.

“Actually…that’s not, er, necessary.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he looked down to be certain. Sure enough, there was evidence that Potter had enjoyed himself almost as much as he had.

“Why Potter,” he smirked, settling back down comfortably. “I didn’t even touch you.” He preened. “I _am_ good.”

Potter snickered. “You’re such a berk, Malfoy.”

“That may be, but I am a _talented_ berk.”

“You didn’t even do any of the work!”

“Which just goes to show how inordinately gifted I am. Look at all the effort you had to go through to get me off, and compare that to what _I_ had to do to accomplish the same.”

Potter was still laughing when he leaned over to kiss him.

 

The End

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A/N: Thank you for reading my first ever Harry Potter fic. It was a really open-ended prompt, so I hope I did it some justice, and I know the lemon could’ve been longer, but I just liked the idea of Draco preening over his sexual prowess, so…


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